


Enrobed

by jessingaround



Series: Covered [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Blood, Depression, F/M, Forced Proximity, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hurt/Comfort, Living Together, Mental Health Issues, Real Relationship, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, originally posted on dramione.org
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:06:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessingaround/pseuds/jessingaround
Summary: Hermione and Draco are both hiding the affects Voldemort's return has had on them. Being appointed as Head Girl/Boy forces them into a situation where their realities are revealed.***“Finish your essay for Snape, eh?”“I bloody well did! How can you be so passive about this? You could have killed me, or worse--”“Look, I knew the risks. You’re fine, right?” He crossed his arms. “I know how to make the damn potion. Don’t get all pissy because you didn’t realize how much you were trusting me!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on (Dramione.org). This was my first multi-chapter fic, but for whatever the reason the site has been down for months so I decided to cross post it.
> 
> An important fact about this fic: I want ALL of my readers to be 100% aware that the relationship portrayed between Draco and Hermione is in no way shape or form supposed to imply that love/like/sex/validation will cure/fix mental illness. I really attempted to portray the realities of mental illness and self-harm in this fic. 
> 
> So, please pay attention to the tags because they also act as trigger warnings.

“Decided to come back this year and torture us some more with that Mudblood stench of yours Granger?” Malfoy snarled.

 

“You are the only one I see who knows anything about torture.” Hermione flashed her eyes. “Now move.” Hermione had forgotten her self inking quill on the train and gone back to retrieve it, only to find on her way back out that Malfoy was guarding the exit.

 

“I think I would rather make you ride the train back to London. It would most definitely make the school cleaner,” he smirked. 

 

“Ah, but then who would you get to verbally assault?”

 

“You think I enjoy these little banters? Ha! I would much prefer if I had never laid eyes on your Mudblood face.” Malfoy moved his eyes from the top of her hair to her toes to size her up. Then he saw it, the red badge pinned to her robes, “they made a bloody Mudblood head girl?”

 

“Contrary to what you may believe, head girl is not exclusive to pure-bloods, I swear.” She rolled her eyes. 

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Finally occur to you that the idea of blood purity is ridiculous?”  _ Doubtful. _

 

“Hell no, Granger, I just realized that if they made you head girl it doesn't mean anything that I'm head boy.”

 

“Excuse me?” Her head began to spin,  _ why on earth would they make someone as foul as Malfoy head boy? _

 

“I'm head boy,” he gestured to his own pin, “and your filthy blood is defiling my position.”

 

“You are ridiculous.” She smoothed her robes, “Dumbledore will be announcing the heads to the school soon, we should go.” He would not ruin this for her. She was too proud of her accomplishment, and even if it was outlandish to trust Malfoy with any amount of power, she would not allow him to see her true feelings. She turned on her heel. “We will be able to continue this banter back at our dormitory.” The witch laughed, knowing how much sharing a common room with someone with ‘unclean blood’ would unravel him. 

 

Though he was slightly unraveled, he didn’t let on. “Do not tell me what to do. But make sure you eat at this feast, if I must share this position with you, the least you could do is look like more than a skeleton,” he snarled at her. 

 

He noticed. She hadn't really been able to eat much lately. Her mind elsewhere, and her stomach constantly in knots. “Shove off.” Harry and Ron either hadn't noticed or didn't care enough to mention it. At first she assumed that if they had noticed they didn't find it too alarming, but if Malfoy had noticed she must have dwindled more than she thought. She walked quickly to the great hall and slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table. Ron sat awkwardly as Ginny and Harry talked about their summers.

 

“Finally,” Ron turned to her, “find your quill?”

 

“Hum, yes.” She stuffed the quill into her bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. 

 

The great feast went as usual, but when Dumbledore announced Draco as the head boy Hermione had to kick Harry under the table. He was making a scene. Of course she knew he would be upset, but gracious. He was grabbing at Ron with his eyes wide and acting like Malfoy would murder her in her sleep.  _ I really cannot deal with him and his incessant overreacting. _

 

Once Dumbledore had finished speaking Harry uncrossed his arms, placing his hands firmly on the table. “If he,” his eyes flashed to the Slytherin table, “so much as lays a hand on you I swear to Merlin it will be the last thing his hands do.” 

 

“Really Harry, you let him get you so worked up.”

 

“I  _ let _ him get me worked up? You can’t be serious, he’s a Death Eater!” Harry rubbed his forehead with his hand.

 

Rolling her eyes Hermione exclaimed, “Again, we have no proof that he is a Death Eater, I’m so fed up with this pissing match.”

 

Ron squirmed, “Uh, Death Eater or not, he’s walking over here.”

 

Harry and Hermione stopped bickering and their eyes followed Ron’s gaze to see the wizard walking straight toward them. He sneered, “No need to stare, just retrieving the Mudblood for Professor Flitwick.”

 

Hermione shot both Harry and Ron a glare and they shut their mouths, knowing that whatever pleasure they would derive from hurling a curse or at least an insult at Malfoy wouldn’t be worth the wrath of Hermione they would have to face later. Her lips curled to a soft smile and she spoke gently, “I’ll see you tomorrow, I suspect we need to be shown to our dormitory.” As she turned and walked away she could hear the boys whispering in an angry tone.

 

“Ah, Miss Granger, so nice to see you. I do hope your summer was well.”

 

“Yes, Professor, good to see you as well, and I hope the same for you. I am excited to begin class, I’ve already read the first few chapters of the book you’ve chosen and--”

 

Malfoy cut her off, “As much as I would love to start Charms class early, I really am exhausted.” His haughty voice dragged a little, “Can we go?”

 

If Hermione hadn’t known Draco for so many years she would have thought he was actually tired, but she knew how manipulative the boy could be.

 

“Right. Apologies. This way.” Professor Flitwick smiled as he walked the pair down a long hallway and stopped in front of a large round painting. A pale woman with light hair and eyes stared back at them. She gently raised her eyebrows, indicating that she was waiting for the password. “The password is ‘pumpkin juice’, feel free to change it anytime, just” the professor looked at the two of them sternly, “tell each other.”

 

They both nodded, though scowling, and turned to the painting now swinging open.

 

“Thank you professor,” Hermione called back.

 

As soon as the painting closed behind them Malfoy glared at her. “Stay out of my bloody way.”

 

“As much to your disdain, we are both heads, and this is my living space too.” She crossed her arms and her lips thinned.

 

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” Malfoy glared, “I am well aware of the situation we find ourselves in, I said stay out of my way.”

 

 _I will not allow him to walk all over me._ “No.” With finality in her voice she allowed her eyes to move away from his and examine the common room they would share; mesmerized, she allowed her bag to fall off of her shoulder. The room had two of nearly everything: desks, bookshelves, windows, and staircases. The walls were of dark stone and cream drapes hung on the walls. She supposed that the common room had been decorated to not imply affiliation with any of the houses. She instinctively turned to the right staircase and began ascending when she heard Malfoy speak again.

 

“Granger.”

 

She did not turn around, “I am done arguing tonight.”

 

“I know. But--” She looked down at him. “You left your purse.”

 

“I don’t need it.” She kept moving.

 

“Granger,” she turned ready to yell, then seeing his face, paler than usual and eyes wide, closed her mouth.

 

“I- I can’t really do clutter.” He was clearly uncomfortable.

 

_ Clutter. That’s what gets under Malfoy’s skin? _

 

She pushed air out of her mouth. He was annoying, and he was being ridiculous, but she didn’t want to argue. She quickly walked back down the stairs, collected her bag and retreated to her room. 

 

_______________________________________________________________________

 

Malfoy woke suddenly. It was dark and he was slick with sweat. The nightmare he had just awoken from still haunted him. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep he slid out from under his covers and walked quietly down the stairs. He was almost certain Granger hadn’t charmed her room yet, and as much as he didn’t like the bushy-haired Mudblood, he didn’t want to wake her up and be subject to her endless questions. “Lumos” he whispered, and ran his finger across the spines of the books he had filled his bookshelf with earlier. He didn’t want to read for class - he wanted a distraction. Finally deciding that he had nothing interesting enough to distract him from his nightmare, he abandoned his bookshelf, sat on the couch, and stared into the darkness.

 

He startled when he heard the witch running down the stairs. She stopped abruptly when she saw him. Malfoy had fallen asleep on the couch hours after waking up in the middle of the night. His blond hair wisped in every direction and he had dark circles under his eyes.

 

“Are you okay?” Her voice was gentle.

 

_ How could she be so kind so suddenly? She hated him. _

 

He groaned, still partially asleep.

 

“Should you go to Madam Pomfrey?”

 

“I’m not bloody sick.”

 

“You don’t really look well, are you sure?”

 

“I didn’t sleep well, okay? Now quiet.” It was bloody early. Well, to the looks of it it wasn’t that early, Granger was already clothed and had a bag of books slung over her shoulder. 

 

“Not a fan of mornings, are we?” Hermione giggled, eying his bare chest. There was something not quite right about it, but she couldn’t decide what it was. 

 

“Fuck Granger.” Malfoy pulled himself to a standing position. “I’m bloody tired. I just woke up. I only got 3 hours of sound sleep before--” He stopped mid sentence. He was still drowsy, and he almost let the fact that he had been having this nightmare recurrently slip. “I’m not used to it being this warm while I sleep.” Luckily he had already thought about the inconvenience that it was being so used to sleeping in a dungeon. He did get fairly warm last night, but that was not the reason for his insomnia.

 

“Sorry. You may want to hurry though, first day of classes and all.” She gave him a slight smile then exited the dormitory pinching herself to ensure that she was indeed awake. Malfoy hadn’t been nice, but he wasn’t cruel like he normally was.

 

Any hope Hermione had of keeping things civil between the two of them vanished when she walked into the Great Hall for lunch. Distractedly thinking about the weirdness of Malfoy’s chest she accidentally walked into him.

 

“Filthy, rotten, Mudblood.” He snarled, “Now I have to burn my robes.” He held his hands as if he was contaminated.

 

She rolled her eyes, “Sod off.” Unwilling to allow his ignorant belief in blood status to affect her, she turned and walked to the Gryffindor table and met her friends.

 

Draco dropped his hands. He didn’t actually care that she had touched him. He had purposefully positioned himself so that she would, aware that her head was somewhere else. He needed to throw some insults at her, since this morning he was too kind. He didn’t want her to think they were becoming friends, that would be too dangerous. He was unaware, however, how affected he would be by her touching him. She had definitely lost weight since last year, but he hadn’t realized how much until he felt the lack of substance behind her step. Robes could be both beneficial and dangerous in that they had the ability to hide quite a lot from judgemental eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

What were the Death Eaters doing? How could she protect her friends? What about her parents? Were they in danger because of her affiliation with the Order? Why was Harry still so angry? His outbursts had increased and she and Ron could barely leave him alone anymore. There were so many questions, and answers seemed nowhere in sight.

Hermione stared down at the plate in front of her. She knew she needed to eat, she wanted to eat, but her stomach felt solid. Not full. It was Wednesday and she hadn’t been able to eat and keep down a meal since Saturday, so her stomach definitely wasn’t full. She wished she could go to Madam Pomfrey and get a potion, but she was too fearful that the matron would make her stay there and miss class. Yes. Going to her was simply out of the question. Missing class would only make things worse, seeing as she was already spending less time on homework than she would like due to being head girl. Hermione was thrilled that she was awarded the opportunity, but she wished she had considered the impact it would have on her studies. Then there was Malfoy. The blood status loving git. Any time they were near each other they were arguing. The constant bickering was increasingly problematic since they shared a common area and had to work together in managing the prefects. Hermione had to figure out a way to make this year more bearable.

Deciding that it was unrealistic for her to eat an entire meal, Hermione gently picked up a roll and began to pick at it. With any luck she could manage to keep it in her stomach long enough to digest the thing.

Ron and Harry were yammering away about some Quidditch tactic, looking suspiciously at the Slytherin table. Knowing she wouldn’t be missed, and feeling like the roll was going to stay put, at least for a little bit, she decided to slip away from the table and go back to her dormitory to study.

***  
Malfoy heard the door swing open and then a sigh escape Hermione’s mouth. He had been sitting at his desk desperately trying to remain calm enough to complete his assignments.

“No need, Granger.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to pick a fight as long as you don’t.”

“And why might that be?” 

I guess she’s picking a fight. “I have twenty inches due to Snape tomorrow.” 

She snickered. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, and in case you’ve forgotten we have that class together so I do as well.”

“Yes, but Snape doesn’t want to torture you.” He let the words escape before he could think better of it. “I mean-” 

“How can you expect me to believe that?” She rolled her eyes.

He hated when she didn’t believe him when he was actually being honest. “Contrary to what you may believe, not everything that comes out of my mouth is a lie.”

“I suppose not.” She pursed her lips. “But you lie so much, and so well,” I can’t believe I just admitted that, “that I just assume nothing you say can be trusted.”

“That almost hurt.” He sneered, but she noticed that something in his eyes changed. Did that really hurt him?

“Fine, let’s play a game.”

“Why would I want to play a game with you?”

“Because this constant bickering isn’t working.” It really wasn’t. “We have been living together for 2 months and it’s all we do.”

“Well, yes.” He wasn’t following.

“We have to work together. We have to live together. Just say you’ll play.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Maybe not physically.” She smirked.

“What do you have in mind.”

“One night of nothing but truth.”

“That sounds dangerous, Granger.”

“With a few rules, of course.” She knew it could get dangerous, but she obviously wouldn’t divulge anything about the Order.

“Go on.” He rolled his eyes, but she could have sworn he sounded interested.

“We don’t have to answer a question if we don’t want to, but if we choose to answer we cannot lie.” This will either help a lot or make us more miserable.

“Well, won’t not answering sort of answer the questions?”

“Not if you play well enough.”

“Are you sure you don’t belong in Slytherin?” A devilish grin spread across his face.

“You heard the sorting hat just as I did.” Her eyebrows arched. “Are you in or not?” 

“Fine. I have one non-negotiable and one wish.”

She nodded. “Go on.”

“Wait here.” Malfoy turned and walked up the left staircase to his bedroom and returned with a small, black box. Once back within Hermione’s sight he opened it and removed a smooth sphere. “This is a deceptimeter.” He smirked. “Once activated it will turn white. It interprets the deception in the room and gradually turns black when someone isn’t being honest.”

“That’s brilliant!” She was a bit worried he wouldn’t be forthcoming. “Now, what’s the wish you have?”

“I confiscated some Firewhiskey last night, I have it prepared to go to Dumbledore, but I’d rather not be totally sober while playing this little game of yours.”

“Hm.” She tapped her finger on her chin. “Fine.” Hermione wasn’t a big drinker, so she would have to be careful so that she didn’t accidentally let some confidential information slip, but she had a feeling that getting Malfoy a little inebriated may make him more forthcoming. 

“Really?” His jaw loosened. “Little Miss Perfect will engage in such reckless behavior? Hold on.” He picked up his wand and tapped the black sphere, “Acturio”. The sphere suddenly turned white and began to glow. Setting it down on the desk beside him he turned back to Hermione. “Are you really Hermione Granger?”

Smiling she said sharply, “Yes. Are you really Draco Malfoy.”

He glanced at the still white sphere before responding. “Yes.”

“Glad we got that cleared up. Go get the Firewhiskey.”

He stepped to his desk and pulled out a drawer revealing more than one bottle of the liquid.

Hermione’s mouth gaped. “Where did you confiscate that much Firewhiskey?”

“Slytherin party. They were pissed I busted them, but Blaise should have known better than to bring this much alcohol on school grounds. Disaster waiting to happen.”

“I think Blaise is sexy.” Hermione smiled, as Draco coughed like he had just choked.

She pointed to the deceptimeter. “Wanted to see if it was really what you said it was.” He glanced to the object and saw that it, in fact, was turning black.

“Right.” He opened the bottle of Firewhiskey and removed two glasses from another drawer and poured both of them a generous amount of the intoxicant. “So, this game, we take turns asking questions?” His eyebrow raised.

“Yes.” She took a sip and coughed. “Do you really think Snape is trying to torture you?”

He tipped his glass into his mouth and emptied it. “Yes.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Nope. My turn, and I’m not answering that question.” He bit his lip. “Why are you dieting?” He had wanted to ask her that question since he saw her, but knew it wasn’t the most appropriate question to ask a lady, even if she was a Mudblood.

“I’m not.” She squirmed, uncomfortable at the attention her loss of weight had suddenly attained. Ginny had asked her the same question earlier that week and she made up some excuse about wanting to have a healthier lifestyle - as if this was healthy.

He glanced to the still white ball. “Then- sorry, your question.”

That was considerate. “Why won’t you tell me why you think Snape is torturing you?”

He rolled his grey eyes. “Since I can tell you won’t be able to get past this I’ll answer, simply so we can get on with this, but you aren’t being very considerate of your rules.” He glared at her, making her blush. “He got caught up in a mess of mine that I have been making worse.” Technically not a lie. Before she could respond he continued with his question, “If you aren’t dieting then why are you losing so much weight?”

Her eyes dropped. “Why do you care?”

“So you aren’t answering the question?”

“Answer mine and maybe I’ll answer yours.” She took another sip of her drink, wincing slightly as the liquid burnt her throat.

“I don’t actually hate you.” The ball was still glowing white.

“Seriously? Then, why-”

“Are you going to answer me?”

“Fine.” She took a drink larger than she was prepared for. “I’ve been really upset, worried really, about a lot of things lately. I think it’s been making me nauseous. I end up throwing up most of the meals I can choke down.” She stared at her feet.

She felt her warm glass being taken away from her, “Drinking on an empty stomach is a really bad idea, Hermione.” 

Her head jerked back up, “Did you just use my first name?”

“Don’t get used to it.” The response fell out of his mouth before he could think about it, but his tone was soft and concern wrinkled his face.

“If you don’t hate me, why do you treat me like dirt?”

He smirked at the unintended pun. “Well, you are a Mudblood.”

She scoffed.

“And my parents would disown me if they knew that I don’t actually believe that blood status matters.” Her knowing was harmless enough. Maybe it would make living and working with her easier if she knew it was all for show.

“Since when?”

He thought for a moment. When exactly did he realize that his parents, as much as he loved them, were ignorant and hypocritical? “I’m not really sure.” He wasn’t lying. “I think it was a gradual realization.” Realizing that she had asked three questions in a row he asked the first question he could think of, “Why don’t you go see Madam Pomfrey? If you’re sick, I’m sure a potion or two would help.”

“I don’t have an illness, Malfoy.”

“That wasn’t an answer, it was a deflection.”

“Fair enough.” She attempted a smile. “I’m afraid that I’ll have to miss a lot of class.”

“That’s not a good enough reason and you know it.”

***

“It’s not that bad.” This was getting old. This was not what she had in mind when she suggested they play this game. Though it was nice to know that he didn’t actually hate her and think all Muggle borns should die, as confusing as the knew knowledge was.

He was still standing close from removing the Firewhiskey from her hand. “Take off your robe.”

She clutched at her robe around her. “No!”

“I want to see how much weight you’ve actually lost. You’re always hiding in your robes or those big sweaters.”

“Draco.” She was almost begging. “Please, let it go.”

Though he didn’t know why, he couldn’t let it go. He stepped closer to her and slid his hands around hers. “Hermione.”

Feeling defeated, she nodded. She knew based on his determined scowl that he wouldn’t stop and she didn’t have the endurance to keep fighting about it. She quickly unzipped and shrugged off her robe, revealing a t-shirt and jeans hanging off her thin frame.

After taking one look at her, he picked her up. “Puut mee downn.” She struggled.

“No.”

Fuck

***

She was far too small. Far too light. Far too weak. Her struggling in his arms felt more like a joke than a serious attempt to get away. 

“Please don’t take me to the hospital wing,” she cried, “it’s embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing is that you’ve been this stupid.” His anger escaped into his tone. “But I’m not taking you to the hospital wing.” He decided just then that taking her to Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t be a good idea. Every bit of trust they had established would be lost, and part of him was enjoying where their relationship seemed to be going.

“Then... where?”

“The potions classroom. I know what you need.”

“You, you do?”

His eyes flicked to hers. “You aren’t the only one who knows things, Granger. My marks are good enough to make me head boy.”

“You,” she said, still shocked.

“It’s either me or Madam Pomfrey. You decide.”

“Fine. Just don’t kill me.”

“I’ll try.” He rolled his eyes, still in awe of her inability to believe in his competence.

He felt ridiculous for doing this. He should just take her to the hospital wing and sort out her hating him for it later. However, he did know exactly what she needed, and he could always make a little extra for himself.

“Alohamora!” The door to the potions supply closet unlocked. He knew Snape would know, but there was no way the professor could prove it was him. He quickly grabbed the supplies he needed and turned back to the pouting Hermione.

He narrowed his eyes. “Can I trust you to walk back to our dormitory?” 

“Yes,” she whispered.

They returned to their dormitory in silence, and Malfoy began brewing the potion immediately.

“What exactly are you brewing?

“Draught of Peace.” He didn’t dare look away from the potion, it was a tedious potion to say the least.

“How can you-”

“Yes, Granger, it is an advanced potion, but you are not the only student capable of doing advanced magic.”

“I know that.” She crossed her arms. “I was going to ask how you have the entire potion memorized.”

“Ah.” Bullox. He cursed himself for not turning the deceptimeter off before now. She was glancing at it every few moments. “I’ve brewed it more than a few times.”

“For who?”

“I’m not answering that question. Go get ready for bed. I’ll bring this to you when I’m finished.”

“I’d rather watch to make sure you don’t poison me.” Hermione crossed her arm.

“I may mess this up if you keep making me talk to you.” He was focused on his work. Potion brewing had always made him a little calmer. He sighed. “If you must watch, atleast sit down.”

***

Hermione was jarred awake by a hasty Malfoy. “What?” she slurred.

“It’s done. Go get ready, I’ll bring it to you once you’re in bed.”

“I’ll just take it now.”

“No.” He was persistent. “You need to be ready for bed first.”

“And how do you know that?” Hermione’s lips pursed. Malfoy looked at her, unsure of how to explain, then realization hit her. “Oh.”

“Will you go? Or did I make this for nothing?” He gestured to the caldron. 

Hermione silently walked to her room, and gently closed the door so she could change.

A few minutes later Draco walked up the stairs to find Hermione sitting up in bed, twisting her hands. “Why have you taken this potion before?”

“The game is over, Granger.”

“Does that mean you won’t tell me?”

“You aren’t the only one dealing with a lot of shit.” He took the top off of the vial he had carried with him. “Drink. Then sleep.”

If Hermione was afraid that Malfoy was poisoning her she did not look it. Instead, her brown eyes looked resigned, almost as if she would welcome poison. Hermione gently held the vial and tipped it into her mouth. She handed the vial back and settled into her bed.

Draco left quietly, walking to his bedroom. He slid into his own bed and tipped two, one after another, vials of Draught of Peace into his mouth, hoping that the potion he had overused to the point of ineffectiveness would help him cope at least one more time.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione’s eyebrows pinched together as she laid in her bed staring at the ceiling. The sun shining through her window woke her up nearly half an hour ago, but she was both calm and comfortable lying in her bed - two things she hadn’t been for far too long. Though she was basking in the ability to breathe deeply without a constant whirlwind of thoughts, she was confused about her experience with Draco the night previous. Why would he help me? Knowing she would not be able to answer that question in the next millennium, the bushy-haired witch forced herself out of bed and into the bathroom. Hermione got ready quickly, realizing soon after she started her morning routine that she was alone in the dormitory and breakfast was nearly over. What’s one more meal? She scoffed to herself, even though she was hungry and felt like she would be able to stomach a meal for the first time in months.

“Huh?” Hermione was pulled out of her rushed attempt to tame her curls by Draco screaming for her. “One second.” She quickly collected her hair and wrapped an elastic band around it a few times before emerging from the bathroom.

Draco let out a sigh. “You missed breakfast.”

“And?” Hermione resumed her scrunched facial expression from earlier that morning.

“I was worried that you had an adverse reaction to the potion, or that you were going to be late for class.” He crossed his arms and glared at her. Had Draco been worried? He quickly added, “I would hate for someone to find out about what I did and suspend me. Father would be livid.”

“Ah.” Hermione bit at her lip. “I actually just slept really well. I did lose track of time, but I won’t be late for class.” Maybe she could be polite. Maybe they could be polite. She didn’t want to be friends, but the whole purpose of the game they played was to make it easier for them to work and live together.

“Good.” He turned on his heel to exit through the portrait. “Oh,”--the wizard slid his hand into his bag and set a strudel he had presumably swiped from breakfast on the table between them.--“eat before class.” 

***

Draco kept repeating to himself that the only reason he went back to check on Granger was his fear that he would get in trouble for the potion and have to be subject to his father’s wrath. As for the strudel, he was sick of being forced to live with an emaciated Mudblood. Yes, that was it. He was not worried about her. He was not concerned for her well being, he was not beginning to see her as a friend. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, admit it. He would barely admit to himself that he was feeling lighter from actually sleeping in his bed, and sleeping well.

He wondered how long a double dose of Draught of Peace would affect him. He wondered if the increased dose would be dangerous to him. Then he wondered if he cared.

Draco’s thoughts kept him occupied until he walked into the Potions classroom and took his seat next to Blaise Zabini. Draco took out his book, paper, and quill and was preparing to ask Zabini if he had started the essay that the Potion’s Master had assigned when the dark haired professor stormed through the door to his desk and slammed his hands on the dark wood. He noticed that Hermione jumped at the noise out of the corner of his eye. He himself was neither shocked nor concerned by the outburst. He knew Snape better than most of the other students; consequently, he knew when Snape was actually mad and when he was merely projecting anger. Draco almost turned to Zabini to ask his question, but the professor began talking.

“Someone”--the professor’s eyes darted from student to student, lingering on both Potter and Malfoy,--“broke into my supply closet last night and stole ingredients for Draught of Peace. I am appalled at this, and inform you all that I will be updating the wards on the closet, as well as this classroom, to include 7th years. As you know, I had given leeway so that you could study and work without my being present, because I was to believe that you were responsible. Clearly, this was a mistake and you insolent children are not to be trusted. Now, if anyone is in true need of the potion”--the professor’s eyes scanned the room again,--“Madam Pomfrey is available at all times. That being said, because I do not know who the culprit is, I feel I must punish the entire class.”

A few Slytherins scowled, or rolled their eyes, and some Gryffindors clenched their fists and looked like they were going to argue against the injustice. No one opposed the professor audibly, however, knowing that anything they could say would only increase the length of the essay Snape assigned.

“30 inches on the devastating effects of an incorrectly brewed Draught of Peace, due next class.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. At least Snape didn’t know it was him.

***

Hermione was livid. She had just finished the essay that Snape had assigned and while working on it she realized how bloody stupid she had been for taking that potion. She should have gone to Madam Pomfrey. Malfoy should have made her go, but no. The cocky bastard thought he could handle it just fine. Well, he did brew it correctly, and it had worked, but that was not the point. It had been reckless and she fully intended on giving him a piece of her mind when he got back. 

***

After dinner Draco went to the library to find a book for an Arithmancy essay. It took longer than he originally intended because he got distracted and ended up with not one but three books. He was back to his exhausted state, but didn’t think he would be able to sleep, so he allowed himself to pick up what he would call a fluff book: Dragon Blood. It was a novel, well written but easy to follow, and interesting. It was perfect for long nights when he was unable to sleep. He was looking forward to lounging on the couch in front of the warm fire when he walked into his common room. When he saw her face, however, he knew the book would have to wait.

“Granger.”

“Granger? Granger? That’s all you have to say?”

“Finish your essay for Snape, eh?”

“I bloody well did! How can you be so passive about this? You could have killed me, or worse--”

“Look, I knew the risks. You’re fine, right?” He crossed his arms. “I know how to make the damn potion. Don’t get all pissy because you didn’t realize how much you were trusting me!”

“Trusting you? That’s what you think I did?” She laughed aggressively. “You forced me into it.”

“Don’t act like I didn’t give you a choice.”

“Hardly!”

“Fuck you.” He scowled.

“You cannot get angry at me, you are the one who could ha--”

“But I bloody didn’t. I fucking took the potion too okay, so we both would have ended up in St. Mungo--”

“Really?” The anger had fallen from her voice and she was standing, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“Yes.” He was done with this conversation and wanted to read, so he opened his bag, removed the book, and plopped himself on the couch.

Hermione, however, was not finished. “Why?”

“Why did you?”

“Why do you have to answer every question with a question?”

“One could ask you the same thing.”

They remained still and quiet, glaring at each other, waiting for someone to break. After what felt like hours of staring, Hermione conceded and stomped up to her room, slamming the door behind her. Draco turned to his book and finally began reading.

***

Draco had finished his essay for Snape, his Arithmancy essay, and was halfway through Dragon Blood when he jerked his head up to the noise of a creaking step.

The sudden movement brought realization to Hermione. “Oh, you’re awake.”

Draco did not respond, but simply lowered his head back to his book.

“I guess it’s pointless for me to try to be quiet then,” she mumbled. “About earlier… I-”

“I’m reading.”

“Well, can you put your book down?” Hermione pursed her lips. 

Draco folded the book over his finger and snarled at her. “I’d really rather not.”

Hermione huffed.

“But I can tell that my opinion is of no matter to you, so speak.”

“I over reacted. I apologize. But I hope you understand how reckless what we did was.”

“You really shouldn’t apologize and criticize in the same breath.” His eyes rolled.

“Considering I doubt you have even apologized in your life, you have no room to lecture.”

“Granger, I am sorry that you feel that way.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

She huffed again.

“Tell me, did it work?”

“No, your apology was far from satis-”

“Not the apology. Why must I spell everything out for you? The potion.”

Her brows crinkled. “Uhm. Actually, yes.”

“So you will begin seeing Madam Pomfrey to obtain the potion in the future?” He held his face in a neutral position, preferring that she remain as confused about his question as he himself was.

“Well.” She shuffled from foot to foot. She was confused by his curiosity, if she could call it that, but moreso she was confused by her own uncertainty. The potion had helped. Why was she reluctant to go to the Healer?

Draco cleared his throat. He found it was an effective trick for informing individuals that they were taking a long time and it was not appreciated. One of the many manipulative things Draco had picked up from his father.

“Why do you brew it yourself?” She had decided that questioning Malfoy’s reluctance to go to a Healer may appease her funny feeling about doing it herself.

“Nevermind.” Draco opened his book again and stretched his legs across the couch. He did not want her to think she was welcome to sit with him.

“I’m just curious… because I don’t think I want to talk to Madam Pomfrey.”

When the wizard didn’t respond, or even look up from his reading, Hermione snatched the book from his hands.

“That was uncalled for.” Malfoy set his jaw. He was not in the mood for her gushing emotions, and he was not going to answer her question.

“I just want you to answer me, then you can go back to your,” - she held the book up so she could read the title, - “what even is this?” she scoffed.

Before Hermione could react Draco had gotten up from his reclined position on the couch and snatched the book back from her. “You read fiction too, Granger.”

“I just didn’t expect you to. I would think someone of your sophistication would have a hard time appreciating the arts.”

“Do you realize how asinine that sounds. The Malfoys have been collectors for generations.”

Hermione let her body fall into a chair. “Whatever. I’m tired. Don’t hold my lack of ability to string together a criticism at two in the morning against me.”

“It’s two already?” Draco’s brows raised. He knew he was getting groggy, but he also knew he was nowhere close to being able to drift to sleep.

“Mmm.” Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Why are you awake?”

“We’ve lived together long enough for you to know I don’t sleep well.” Draco resumed his reclined position on the couch.

“Of course, but I asked why.”

Draco bit at the inside of his cheek. Why was she so meddlesome? He longed for someone to talk to, to open up to, but her? She wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t know how to handle it. Hell, she would probably go tattle and he would end up in Askaban, or worse, St. Mungos. “I still haven’t gotten used to the heat.”

“If you don’t want to tell me, just say that, don’t lie.”

“I’m not-”

“You build a fire every night, and in case you haven’t noticed, you’re a wizard Malfoy. I know you know how to produce a cooling charm.”

He mindlessly rubbed at his arms. After a far longer than it should have taken him to form a response he replied, “I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice was rough and so low it was almost inaudible.

“Mmm.” Hermione’s eyes were closed and it seemed to Draco that she had drifted off to sleep. He turned back to his book, but he couldn’t focus on the words anymore, so he quietly got up and walked into the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

The last few weeks had improved drastically for Hermione. Though she would hardly consider whatever was going on between Draco and her a friendship, there was significantly less tension between the two. Consequently, both her duties as head girl and her living arrangements were more pleasant. Though her appetite wasn’t as regular as it had once been, she had begun eating more consistently and her nausea had subsided. Though Hermione wasn’t gaining weight (yet), the weight loss had ceased and she had exponentially more energy. Though Hermione was hesitant at first, she had spoken to Madam Pomfrey about her discomfort. After Hermione briefly explained what was happening, Madam Pomfrey agreed that a vial of Draught of Peace every now and then would be beneficial. Hermione was cautioned that Draught of Peace, while wonderful, wasn’t intended for long term use. After anywhere between two weeks and two months of regular use the potion’s effect would diminish. She was encouraged to talk with her friends about her many concerns in attempt to free her mind from the incessant worrying. She promised the nurse that if the worrying and troubled eating continued or worsened she would return. It seemed, however, that talking through her feelings with Ginny and Harry was exactly what she needed.

The two of them were more understanding than Hermione had believed they would be, and though there were times when they couldn’t relate to how she felt, they were supportive. Ron, on the other hand, was less capable of dealing with emotions than a toddler. Rather than make the two of them more uncomfortable, Hermione allowed her relationship with Ron to remain light and playful.

Draco too was trying to cope with his feelings, though he was using quite different methods.

XXX

Draco sat at his desk in his and Hermione’s shared common room contemplating a course of action. He knew that he was operating on borrowed time, not completing the mission that The Dark Lord had tasked him with the previous school year. Truthfully, Draco couldn’t understand how killing Dumbledore would benefit him. Why was it so important that the old wizard be exterminated? Surely it didn’t really matter, how could it? Draco shook his head, trying to clear it of the pointless train of thought he had entertained for too long. It didn’t matter what the importance was, Draco was given a mission by The Dark Lord and not completing it would have dire consequences. His quill scratched against a piece of parchment. He knew it was anything but wise to have a paper trail, but Draco simply couldn’t plan without writing. Anyway, he rationalized that he would burn the parchment in the same way he burnt all of the other writings that he didn’t want anyone to find. He stared at what he had written.  
Poison  
Fire  
Drown  
AK  
Draco had already tried to poison the man, so that wasn’t really an option anymore. He marked the word out with a sharp movement of his quill. Fire. That was a nice idea, he praised himself. If he planned it right, no one would suspect him - or foul play for that matter - and he wouldn’t have to witness the death like he would if he were to drown or Avada the man. As much as Draco knew that he had to kill Dumbledore, he also knew that if he had to actually look him in the eye he would at the very least hesitate.

Draco knew he had to stop thinking about this because he could feel his body reacting to the stress. He grabbed his wand and quickly set the parchment on fire, protecting both himself and his family. He closed his eyes and tried to still both his body and mind. His heart was racing. He knew what was coming. Instead of letting it though, he pushed away from the desk forcefully and retreated to the bathroom as he had so many times before. Draco closed the door and placed a locking charm on it then slid down the wall so he could rest on the cool tile. Draco found that he was oddly fond of this bathroom. The walls, tiles, and sink were all white and the only way to recognize that there was a shower in the room was to look up to see the long rectangle piece of silver metal that dispensed water like a heavy rainstorm, or to look down to see the small silver drain. The water was turned on and adjusted with a spell, and there was a magical boundary that kept the water from saturating the entire room. Draco was certain that the simplicity and cleanliness of the room was what attracted him to it, then there was the privacy that it provided.

Draco pulled off his shirt and removed the Glamour Charms he had in place, letting out a deep sigh. By design he could always see past the charms, but there was something about not having his magical shield up that was simultaneously nerve wracking and calming. No one truly knew who he was, and showing them would surely be disastrous, but simply existing without hiding himself, however short of a time it would be, was welcome.

Draco knew what he would find when he looked at himself: his left forearm was home to The Dark Mark, courtesy of The Dark Lord himself. He wasn’t hiding that though, not really. Of course, he didn’t want to flaunt the fact that he was a Death Eater, but most people at Hogwarts either already knew, because they themselves were a Death Eater or a supporter, or they already assumed he was. If anyone ever asked why he was sporting the tell-tale shimmering of a Glamour Charm he would claim that he didn’t want Potter to find out about his mark, but in reality he was hiding the many scars and cuts on his arms and chest. He allowed his eyes to settle on one particular scar. It was a thin white line on his left wrist. The first cut he ever made had been dissected by more recent cuts. Draco had found that while he had plenty of unscarred skin on other parts of his body, he was given much more satisfaction when he unleashed himself on his wrists. His chest was the next best thing, so it too was covered with white scars and cuts at various points on the healing spectrum.

His most recent cuts - on the inside of his right arm, directly below where his elbow bent - were fully scabbed over as it had been a few days since his last session. Draco knew rationally that making himself bleed like this wasn’t solving any of his problems, but he felt so much better after he had done it. Sitting on the cool bathroom tile, Draco could tell that all of his feelings, the ones he had been taught not to show or feel, were about to explode out of him. He quickly Accioed the leather bag he stored his straight razor in and rummaged through it to find the blade he only used for this particular exercise.

Draco felt the cool metal in his fingers and let out a breath that sounded remarkably like a whimper. As he took the blade in his right hand, tears escaped his eyes and he pressed the blade to his upper arm. Beads of blood formed along the crisp cut he had forged and he watched as the liquid gathered and rolled down his arm. He found something remarkably beautiful about red on white.

XXX

When Hermione finally got back to the head dormitory she was exhausted. She had spent hours in the library working on homework then went to the Gryffindor common room to relax with her friends. It was indeed a productive day. Though she was basically sleepwalking, she knew she needed to speak with Draco about making arrangements for the Yule Ball, so she decided to see if he was available to discuss the matter.

“Malfoy!”

“Huh?”

The voice came from the bathroom, and moments later she heard shuffling then the water turn on. “I’ll wait.”

When the door opened Draco’s clothes were a tad disheveled and his face was paler than usual.

“Are you alright?” Hermione moved closer to him and held up her hand to check to see if he was warm but he batted her away.

“Fine. Tired. Wha’d’ya need?”

She crinkled her brow. “Are you sure?”

At his glare she decided to drop it and continue with her mission. “Fine. We need to talk about the Yule Ball. Can we do that now?”

Draco glanced at the clock. “Granger, it’s nearly eleven, can we do it tomorrow maybe?”

“I suppose you’re right.” Hermione sighed.

“You really want to do it now?”

“I guess not, I am quite exhausted, but we do need to get started on it.”

“Tomorrow is Friday, we can start right after dinner and work on it until you are satisfied.”

“Deal.”

At that, both Hermione and Draco dragged themselves to their rooms and fell into deep slumbers.

XXX

Draco returned to his dormitory immediately after eating dinner, just like he promised, to find Hermione leaning over her desk scribbling on a piece of parchment. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, but a few of the front pieces had escaped and were now hanging in front of her face. Draco chuckled as she swiped her hand to try and restore her field of vision.

“Until you have to deal with a head full of curls with a mind of their own I do not want to hear it, Malfoy,” Hermione snapped. 

Draco raised his hands in mock surrender. “Bad day, I see.”

“Understatement.” The witch grumbled.

“Want to talk about it?”

Hermione looked up from the parchment to meet the grey eyes staring at her. She began to fidget with her quill, not knowing what she should say.

“If you don’t want to, it won’t hurt my feelings. I was simply offering…”

“No, I mean, yes. Yes, I want to talk about it.” She smiled. “I only hesitated because I couldn’t tell if you were mocking me or not.”

“Ah. Well, no mocking here, at least not this time.” He smirked.

“I didn’t do as well as I would have liked to on my paper for Snape, and Ron made fun of me for ‘worrying too much’ about it, and Ginny and Harry have gotten so much closer lately, so I couldn’t really talk to them about it. And while I’m happy that Ginny and Harry are together, I’m just not really used to sharing them like this. Of course there is the constant worry that just sort of sits in my head. It’s gotten better, but I haven’t really been able to release it in the past few days.”

Draco’s pulse quickened. “What do you mean, ‘release it’?”

“Talk about it. What else would I mean?”

“Uh. I’m not sure. That’s why I asked.”

“Oh. Yeah. So, now that I’m saying it out loud I realize that I didn’t have that bad of a day. I just felt like I couldn’t talk about it, so I was getting snappy.” Her face tinged with red. “Sorry.”

“No apology necessary.” Draco pulled the chair that sat at his desk to Hermione’s and let his body settle in it. “If you ever need to unload, you know where I live.” He smirked.

“Thanks.” Hermione rummaged through the papers she had been working on until she found the one for the Yule Ball. “You know, the same offer is extended to you from me.”

“What?” Draco shook himself from his thoughts of his own day.

“If you ever need to talk…”

“Oh, right. Thanks, Hermione.”

“Hermione?”

The tips of his ears blushed. “Uh… is that alright?”

“It’s just fine, Draco. It was just unexpected.” She smiled. “Now, let’s get to work on this ball.”

They worked diligently for two hours, discussing potential themes and decorations, as well as refreshments and music. They eventually decided to do a simple holly theme, and decorate with a combination of the plant and candles. Something simple, yet festive. They would serve light refreshments rather than a meal, in order to encourage more socializing and dancing. They spoke extensively about the pros and cons of hiring a band and decided that to simplify the matter they would charm instruments to play a setlist of songs.

Accomplishing their goal, Draco pulled his chair back to his own desk and sat down to complete a chapter for Arithmancy. His fidgeting punctuated with exasperated sighs was getting annoying for Hermione when he finally caved. “How far are you in this?” He gestured to his textbook.

“Nearly complete. Do you have a question?”

“Not really a question. I think I made a mistake, though, but I can’t find it.”

Hermione held out her hand. “Here.”

Draco handed her his paper. She scanned the work, tapping her quill lightly on the table while she searched for a mistake.

“Ah.” She stood up and walked to Draco’s desk, placing the paper in front of him and pointing. “Here. You forgot-”

“Oh yes. I see it now. Merlin, thank you, Hermione. I would have been up all night looking for that.”

She nodded and went back to her own desk, going back to her thoughts. “Can I ask you a question?” The words fell out of her mouth before she could think about the repercussions. 

Draco smirked. “You just did.”

Hermione looked at him pointedly. “Never mind.”

“No. Ask.”

“Well, why are you being so… nice all of a sudden?”

“I’m being nice?

“Maybe nice isn’t quite it.” She thought for a moment, scrunching her lips to one side of her face. “Somewhere in between compliant and pleasant.”

“I see.”

“Well…”

“What?”

“Why?”

“Oh. Uhm.” He didn’t really know why. It wasn’t like he was trying to be compliant, or pleasant, or nice, or any of it. He wasn’t trying to be mean, or cruel, or indifferent though either. He wasn’t really trying to be anything. He was tired of trying, he was sick of being someone he wasn’t. “Would you rather I go back to being rude?”

“Don’t do that.”

He glared at her.

“Don’t get all huffy just because I noticed something about you and you feel exposed.”

“I do not feel exposed.”

“Then answer the question.”

He sighed. “Fine. You already know that I don’t care about blood purity. I told you that when we played that game. Well, there are other things that, in the past, I have projected as beliefs or opinions of mine that simply aren’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have reevaluated the beliefs that I was taught to respect as a child, and I no longer feel that they are appropriate.”

“So you’re switching sides?”

“Excuse me?”

“If you don’t believe that Muggle borns are impure, why are you still on his side?”

“How do you know I am?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“I never said that.”

“Look, you don’t have to answer me. But, if you do want to change sides, if you need help, I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Would Potter really want me?”

“Yes.”

He mumbled something under his breath that Hermione could barely hear, but it sounded something like, “I wouldn’t hold your breath”. Then he straightened his desk, filling his satchel with the necessary books for the next day’s lessons and retreated to his room.


	5. Chapter 5

A week had passed and Draco had been doing his best to avoid Hermione. It proved difficult, but he was able to limit their interactions to situations she wouldn’t be able to speak her mind. He couldn’t talk to her about switching sides again. After she first mentioned it he had locked himself in his room and read in his bed until his eyelids were too heavy to hold open. He fell into a restless sleep and when he awoke his sheets were wet with his sweat and tightly wrapped around his body. When he untangled himself he found that he had ripped the bottom sheet with his feet and opened one of the newer cuts on his arm from moving so much. As rough as that night was, he hadn’t slept any better since. He kept dreaming about what would happen to his family if he did switch sides. He woke up each night, more exhausted than when he fell asleep and full of panic. He found himself on the white bathroom tile more nights that week than any of the weeks previous. This night was going to be different though. He didn’t turn in the Firewhiskey that he had confiscated from Blaise, and tonight he had plans to drink until he couldn’t think anymore, or until he passed out.

Draco’s classes dragged on. Dinner almost got dangerous, but was mildly entertaining. Pansy, who had been practically salivating over Blaise for months, was babbling about the Yule Ball. Blaise rolled his eyes every chance he got, and after listening to Pansy talk about how much she loved to dance for twenty minutes boldly stated that he hated dancing and wasn’t planning on attending. Knowing that if he didn’t get out then he would be trapped refereeing and, by the look on Pansy’s face, nursing Blaise back to health, he silently slid off the bench and retreated to his dorm.

The first thing he did when he got to his room was strip off his robes and put on a pair of grey lounge pants and a white t-shirt. It wasn’t proper wizard’s clothing, but it was comfortable and his parent’s, along with their judgement and punishments, were not around, so he didn’t give a damn.

Draco left his wand in his bedroom, knowing that it wasn’t safe to have his wand within reach when he was going to be drinking without a buddy. When Draco opened the drawer of his desk that he kept the confiscated liquor in he took mental note of how much he had. He wanted to know how much it took to get him completely pissed, so he could make sure to keep an adequate supply. That is, if it worked. Merlin, he hoped it worked. Draco raked his hand through his hair and let out a sigh. He needed this. He grabbed the half full bottle of Firewhiskey, filling a glass and draining it. Then he made his way to the couch and allowed his body to relax fully into the soft cushions. He poured himself another glass, and began to sip it slowly, enjoying the burn as the liquid slid down his throat. The fire was captivating, so he didn’t read or do anything but watch the flames dance.

***

Hermione hadn’t had a bad week per say, but she was concerned about the way Draco had been acting. It was almost like he was mad at her, but she couldn’t see how she had done anything to warrant his avoidance. Ron asked her to spend time with him in the Gryffindor commons, and she agreed. Unfortunately, she hadn’t realized the reason he wanted her to be there was to keep Harry and Ginny from snogging each other to death. This realization brought a new flood of emotions that she was entirely unprepared for. Suddenly, she was incredibly hurt that Ron never wanted to just spend time with her for her. He was always asking to spend time with her, but it always turned into her helping him with homework, or dealing with some other issue he was having. When Ron asked her to use her Head Girl status to keep Harry and Ginny off of one another, she lost it.

“Ronald Weasley you are such a prat!”

“Come on, ‘Mione.”

“Stop! I hate that bloody nickname. Pronounce my name the right way Ronald.”

“Relax, I’m sorry, okay.” Ron held his hands up and backed away from the red faced witch.

“No. You aren’t bloody sorry. You just want to be able to call on me the next time you need my skills.” Hermione flung her bag across her shoulder and turned toward the door. “Tough luck with that.” She was gone before he realized how upset she actually was.

She didn’t really want to go back to her dormitory and dance around Draco’s mood, but she was far too worked up to go to the library so she just hoped that he would be somewhere else. Of course, he wasn’t.

***

When Hermione walked into the dormitory Draco had already finished the priorly opened bottle and started on a new one, but he was still thinking and still very much conscious. 

“Either grab a glass and start drinking or get out.”

“Draco…” She wasn’t expecting him to be drinking, let alone drunk. 

“Your choice.”

She thought for a moment. She was upset. She did want to talk to him about why he seemed so upset with her, and this would be a good opportunity. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. “Hand me a glass.”

Draco stumbled happily to his desk, found a glass, and returned to the bottle resting on the coffee table. He filled the glass and handed it to the witch. “Why are you all red?”

“Excuse me?” Hermione took a drink and rolled her shoulders to try and relax.

“Your face and neck,” - he pointed - “are all red.”

“I get red when I’m mad.” She took a larger drink. “Why are you drunk?”

“I’m tired. Why are you mad.?”

“Ronald bloody Weasley. If you’re tired, why don’t you sleep?”

“Nightmares. Have I ever told you that I think you’re far above him?” Draco was drunk enough to be far too loose lipped and to not care what he did. If all things went as planned he wouldn’t remember this in the morning any way. 

“Nightmares?” Hermione chose to ignore the latter part of his comment, she didn’t want to talk about that arse.

Draco felt himself getting upset. It was her fault he was having this new nightmare, and he had every intention in his drunken state to let her know how he felt about it. “Fucking you, telling me that I can switch sides. I can’t switch bloody sides. He would kill them, or worse, fuck them up so bad they spent the rest of their lives in a padded room.” He grabbed the bottle and took a long drink directly from it. Screw the glass, it was slowing him down. “And it would be my fault, because I thought that I could change!”

“How much have you had to drink, Draco?” Her eyes were wide. She had never seen anyone this drunk before. It looked freeing.

He took another drink and slammed the bottle to the table. “Not enough. I’m-s-still-standing. What’re you gonna do, cut me off?” He laughed.

Hermione stared back at him, wide eyed, then picked up her own glass and downed it. “No, I’m going to try to catch up. Pass the bottle.”

Draco smiled then did as she asked. Hermione put her lips to the bottle, just as Draco had, and took three drinks one after another. Seeing her lips where his had been made his lips tingle a bit. He didn’t like her. He couldn’t. But seeing her, with her lips on his bottle, being so reckless, made him want to snog her senseless. He watched as she lowered the bottle from her lips and passed the bottle back to him.

“We need a conversation that’s actually fun.”

“How far have you gone with the Weasel?”

“Uhm, no.”

“Hermione, come on, sexxx iss-a normal conversation for people our age.”

“I’m well aware. I meant that Ronald and I haven’t done anything but hug, and he occasionally kisses my cheek, the same way Harry does. Like I would fool around with, or have bloody romantic feelings for someone who barely pronounces my name the right way half the time.” She grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a swig. “You’re properly pissed and can still say it perfectly.”

“Just assumed you were shagging.”

Hermione made a gagging noise. “Never.”

“Well, have you then?”

“What?”

“Ya-know. Had sex.”

“No.” Hermione was feeling the effects of the alcohol in her system now. This was not the kind of conversation she would have with anyone under normal circumstances, but now that they were on the topic, she wanted to know. “Have you?”

“Astoria Greengrass and I fooled around off and on last year, nosexthough. 

Hermione may have started drinking much later than Draco, but she was smaller and not as used to alcohol. She began to giggle uncontrollably as soon as Draco mentioned Astoria, though she wasn’t sure why.

“You’re pissed.”

Hermione struggled to stop giggling and catch her breath. “So’re you.” She watched Draco rake his hands through his hair and decided immediately that she wanted to touch it. She stood from her spot on the couch and stumbled to him. She stopped right in front of him and looked, first at his hair, then his deep eyes. When she raised her hands to run her fingers through his hair, he caught them.

“What’re you doing?”

“I want to touch your hair.”

He blinked once, twice, three times. “Only if I get to touch yours.”

She nodded. She was swaying back and forth and was about to fall so Draco pulled her into his lap before he could debate the possible repercussions. She did not fight him. Instead, she let her fingers thread through his hair. It was softer than she imagined, and so fine. She had always been fascinated by straight hair, since she had always had her mass of untamable curls. He immediately let his hands find her hair as well. While he was excited to finally be touching the wild curls, he was mesmerized by her lips. She was biting at her bottom lip, and it felt like she was taunting him. He used the grip he had on her head to pull her to him, allowing the drunken urge to win without trying to really fight it. Her lips were warm and soft and his.

***

She gasped. His lips were on hers. He was kissing her. Draco Malfoy was kissing her. She was just touching his soft, soft, hair and then he was touching her curls and then his lips were on hers. She should have pulled away. They were both pissed. The right thing to do would be to pull away. She almost did, too, but then his tongue brushed against her bottom lip and Hermione couldn’t tear herself away. She didn’t want to. She opened her mouth, releasing a moan, and allowing his tongue entrance. 

***

She felt so good: her lips, her hair, her fingers stroking his temples. Getting lost in her was much better than getting lost in a bottle.


	6. Chapter 6

To say Draco had a crick in his neck would be an understatement. He had somehow managed to fall asleep on the floor without a pillow or blanket. His head was already throbbing and he knew that opening his eyes would only make it worse. This was why he normally didn’t drink. Hangovers were bloody awful. The alcohol did do its job though - he had forgotten, however briefly.

There was movement behind him. It wasn’t a lot of movement, but it was enough for him to feel considering whoever was moving was now touching him. He forced his eyes open. There were two glasses on the table in front of him. Two. 

What the hell happened last night?

Draco dragged himself off the floor and trained his eyes on the person behind him: Hermione.

How much had he had to drink? He didn’t even remember her coming in, let alone them drinking together. Her hand moved to her face and brushed her curls away. His breath hitched as his eyes narrowed in on a red and screaming bite mark right above her collarbone.

What the bloody hell happened last night?

Draco forced himself to sit on the couch. He wanted to run away from this, to lock himself in his room and never come out. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. It wasn’t even a temporary one because the combined efforts of his headache and nausea were effectively paralyzing him. As soon as he thought he may be able to wait it out, she was stirring. A groan escaped her lips and Draco knew she was awake and feeling as hungover as he was. Her fingers made their way to her temples and began to rub in slow, sloppy circles.

“I’m never drinking again,” she groaned. 

“Once I can manage to stand up without feeling like I’m going to throw up I’ll get you a potion from my room.”

“Could it kill me?” She chuckled, then groaned again clutching her head.

“No.” Draco’s voice was gravel. “I bought these in Hogsmeade.”

She responded with another groan. He really should just get it over with so they could stop being so miserable. However, once they felt better they would surely have to talk about whatever happened while they were smashed. He peeled himself from the couch and forced his bones to cooperate, moving gently to the stairs and then his bedroom. When he returned, Hermione had pulled herself onto the couch and had her head in her hands. Draco nudged the potion in her direction, lightly brushing her hand. Hermione flinched, but let out a relieved breath when she saw that Draco had in fact brought her a potion. Her hand shook slightly as she wrapped her fingers around the vial.

“Cheers.”

Hermione grimaced and tipped the potion into her mouth. Draco drank his potion as well and mere moments later they were both fully functioning again.

“What the hell happened last night?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same question since I woke up,” Draco muttered.

“The last thing I remember is thinking that I was ready to forget.” Hermione sighed. “I guess I managed that.”

“What exactly did you want to forget?”

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “Everything.”

“As did I.” Draco bit his lip. “Unfortunately, I think we only added to that list last night.”

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion.

Draco steeled himself for the inevitable backlash. She would find out eventually. He motioned to her collar bone. “Unless you were snogging someone before you came in.”

Hermione took in her disheveled state. As soon as her eyes grazed the love bite she flushed. “We didn’t… oh Merlin!” She stiffened, then stood up, then began pacing roughly. “Did we… no… we couldn’t have…”

“Look, I’m almost positive we didn’t do anything but kiss, and-”

“How can you be so sure? How much do you remember?” Hermione stopped pacing and looked him directly in the eye. It was scary how intense she could be.

“Because... well, we were clearly wasted, I don’t even remember you coming in. Even if we had been able to get out of our clothes, we wouldn’t have put them back on.” Draco furrowed his brow. “Do you remember anything?”

“As I said, I remember wanting to forget and then trying to ‘catch up’ to you.” Hermione moved her hand to her face and went back to rubbing her temples. “Brightest witch of our age my arse.”

“Regardless, what do we do about this?”

Hermione clasped her hands in front of her, and breathed deeply - her eyes closed. A minute passed with nothing but silence filling the room, then she responded: “I’m okay.”

“Okay?”

“Wait, are you okay?” Suddenly, Hermione was looking at him in a very strange way. It was almost as if she thought he was going to admit his undying affection for her.

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m quite alright. Thanks for your clear concern.”

“Oh, sweet Merlin. Glad that’s taken care of.” She settled herself on the couch, removing the blanket that they kept draped over the back of it and cuddling in it.

“So, we’re just pretending it didn’t happen?” Draco was shocked that this would be resolved that easily.

“I don’t see why not.” When Draco continued looking at her like she had just denounced magic she continued. “We were both drunk, neither of us remember it, neither of us have feelings for eachother, so no harm no foul.”

“What?”

“Oh, muggle expression. We are both okay with what happened, nothing of consequence is going to come of it, so why worry ourselves even further?”

“Oh. I, uhm, I guess that sounds reasonable.” He wasn’t convinced.

“Yes.” She smiled slightly. “What time is it? I’m starving.”

Draco flicked his wand, revealing that it was nearly lunch time. “Best get dressed.”

***

Hermione walked up to her room to prepare for what was sure to be a long Saturday. Everything was not okay. She had kissed Draco Malfoy! Draco Malfoy had left marks on her skin. Harry and Ron were going to kill her.

Sure, she couldn’t remember what happened. That only made it worse. What Malfoy said may have been reasonable, but it wasn’t certain. Why wasn’t he freaking out? Did he truly not hold to blood discrimination anymore? Hermione supposed that he truly didn’t, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to be nearly as friendly as they had been able to be. Still. The situation wasn’t good.

***

Hermione didn’t eat like she should have. Her stomach was tying itself in knots instead. She pushed food around her plate, trying to nod at the appropriate times in Harry and Ron’s conversation. Hermione felt torn about them not noticing that something was bothering her. On one hand, she really didn’t want to talk about it; on the other, it made her feel as though her friends didn’t care about her enough to even notice. Ron stood, surprising Hermione, and muttered something about needing to do an essay. As soon as he was out of earshot Harry turned to Hermione with his caring eyes. “For what it’s worth, he’s really sorry.”

“Huh?” Hermione stared back at Harry.

“For last night, he knows he shouldn’t have… he was up half the night, first angry, then just upset that he was such a git.”

It occurred to Hermione that they had noticed that she was upset, but they assumed she was still angry with Ron. She bit at her lip, then fidgeted with her scarf. She was thankful that it was cool enough in the castle for her to wear her scarf as her robes didn’t cover the mark that Draco had left and she didn’t trust her glamour charm for something so important.

“This isn’t something you need to apologize to me for. However, you may need to apologize to Ron for not being… sensitive to his feelings about your relationship with Ginny.”

Harry’s eyes fell to his now empty plate. “I know, I wasn’t thinking. I talked to him about it last night and promised to be better.”

“Good.” Hermione grabbed her back. “Want to visit Hagrid?” She really didn’t want to be with people, but she knew that if she locked herself in her dormitory she would only be lost in her thoughts for the entire day. Spending the day with Harry and Hagrid would be good for her. Maybe Hagrid would have a new animal to tell them about. 

Harry beamed, rose, and grabbed his bag. They walked silently, Hermione stuck in her own thoughts about the night previous.

***

He had been anxious all day. He felt trapped in his own mind, unable to engage with the world around him. Days like this were always his worst. Waking up late wasn’t a problem since it was Saturday, but he did have a lot of Head Boy duties to fulfil. Consequently, he was stuck in the prefect work room unable to escape to his bathroom and tether himself to the physical world through pain. Instead, he attempted to chase the thoughts out of his consciousness.

Draco was exhausted, physically and emotionally, when he finally got to retreat to his dormitory for the evening. He had every intention of going straight to the bathroom when he got in; however, when he walked through the portrait hole, Hermione was sitting quietly in the common room, her head in her hands. Draco wanted to be alone. He wanted to get out of his head. He wanted to feel. He wanted to control. It was out of the question though; Hermione was too close and would wonder what he was doing. She would probably think he was sick and make him go see Madame Pomfrey. He couldn’t risk it.

He settled into the chair near the fire and pulled a book from his bag. He would read until she tired and went to her room. Surely it wouldn’t take too long.

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione mumbled through her hands, face still buried. It was odd that she hadn’t looked up, but he assumed she was still upset with Weasley.

“Not, I’m reading.” He lied.

“It’s been nearly ten minutes and you haven’t turned a single page.”

Draco sighed. “Fine.” He closed the book. “What did the Weasel do to upset you for this long?”

Hermione muttered something inaudible into her hands. Silence floated between them until a sob escaped her mouth.

Draco’s thoughts exploded. This was not something he was equipped to handle; he was certain. It didn’t matter that he didn’t really know why Hermione was upset. Draco didn’t do relationships for precisely this reason. He had been taught from an early age that Malfoy’s do not cry, or show weakness of any kind for that matter. He had never seen his parents cry, and consequently he had never seen his parents deal with tears. “Uh… Hermione?”

Her head jerked up revealing red puffy eyes and wet cheeks. “Sorry, I, uh, forgot you were here.” Hermione pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes then rubbed her hands down her cheeks. She sniffed. “I, I’m going to go to bed.” Hermione stood up.

That was exactly what Draco had been waiting for. He was feeling restless and he desperately wanted Hermione to leave the common room so he could try to shut his brain off. Something inside him, however, told him that he had to talk to her about whatever she was so upset about. Though she had said that the night previous wasn’t a big deal, he had a feeling that she may have come to a different realization. He stood, blocking her way to her room. “Is this about last night?”

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly before she turned her head. “I told you, no harm no foul.” She tried to slide past him, but he moved.

“You did.” He nodded. “Are you sure about that though?”

She crossed her arms, attempting to make herself look authoritarian but she just came across as defensive. “Positive,” she said, higher pitched than normal.

“You really are a terrible liar.” Draco smirked slightly, then his face took on a seriousness akin to what he wore when speaking to the prefects. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened, then she let out a sigh. “I have too.”

“The thing is, there really isn’t anything we can do about it, is there? It’s in the past, and neither of us can really remember it.”

“I know that.” Hermione threw herself back onto the couch. “It’s just that, well, it’s so unlike me! I want to know what drove me to do that, and with you!”

Draco’s eyes darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Hermione waved her hands.

“Of course I do, Draco Malfoy, alleged Death Eater, of course you couldn’t be attracted to me. Even if I’ve told you bloody more than I’ve told anyone else about who I really am as a person. Not like it would matter to you, or anyone for that matter. This is exactly why I can’t change sides. No one would ever believe that I’ve changed, and even if they believed it on a logical level, they would never bloody trust me.”

“Draco, there is a difference in trusting someone as a person and snogging them while intoxicated!

“Whatever you bloody say.” Draco picked up his bag and turned to retreat into his room, then turned around quickly and pointed his wand at Hermione.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Hermione floundered for her wand.

Draco sighed, walked over to Hermione and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m helping, hold still.”

“Helping how?” Hermione tensed, but obeyed the command to not move.

Draco flicked his wand, enunciating the incantation for a Glamour Charm. “There. You looked bloody ridiculous wearing that scarf all day.”

“I know how to do a Glamour Charm,” Hermione muttered. 

“Then why didn’t you?” Draco turned again and began walking up the stairs, then turned when she didn’t answer. “Well?”

“I didn’t trust it to last all day. I haven’t exactly had a reason to perform many.”

“Ah, well, mine will hold until you cancel it. I’ll recast it if you need me to.” Quickly, Draco finished climbing the stairs and entered his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Hermione went over their conversation in her head. Why had Draco gotten so upset? Why had he stopped to cover the mark he had left? Curious of all, why was he so confident in his Glamour Charms?


	7. Chapter 7

Once Draco was alone in his room, the stresses from his entire life smashed into him. He told himself he was mad. Mad at Hermione for seeing him as a Death Eater, mad at his parents for raising him into those practices, mad at Dumbledore for being so hard to kill, mad at Snape for always being around to remind him that Dumbledore wasn’t dead, mad at the world, mad at himself for expecting any different, mad, mad, mad. He wasn’t mad though. Anger is easy, manageable. Draco had been hiding his emotions for years. He was good at it and no one noticed what he was doing. If he was feeling sad or afraid, he would cover it with anger because, as his father taught him so many times, anger is a manly emotion -- an emotion that Malfoy men can be proud of. On the days Draco felt worthless or like a failure, he would tear other people down. In between those days, or more often moments, Draco would become a blank wall, hiding the emotions from everyone, including himself.

Tonight, Draco was overwhelmed with everything. He was afraid that he wasn’t going to be able to kill Dumbledore, and that his parents -- his mother -- would be punished for his failure. The words that Hermione had said broke something inside of him. “It’s just that, well, it’s so unlike me! I want to know what drove me to do that, and with you!” Draco couldn’t get the words to stop cycling through his head, the way his throat tightened, the way a panic attack almost took him. He knew that his feelings for her had changed, he knew that he would like to date her, but he also knew that it was an unrealistic dream. Her words showed him that even more. Everything clicked into place. Hermione may have been begging him to switch sides, but she just proved his fear valid. She knew more about the real him than anyone, but she still believed him to be a Death Eater. And he was, he was marked, he had been given a mission, he went to the meetings, he watched the torture, he was tortured. 

He still wasn’t one of them. He didn’t feel like it at least. If Draco had known anything about Muggle religion, he would have said it was something like that. He grew up in it, was indoctrinated into the cause, the ideals, the lifestyle. His parents, the people who were supposed to love and protect him above all else lead him to Voldemort’s feet. He was baptized into this, marked, before he was educated enough, and brave enough, to make his own choice, to realize that maybe there was a choice to be made, and Draco hated himself for that.

Draco paced the length of his room with long strides, turning the conversation over and over in his head. He shouldn’t have turned around so abruptly and cast a Glamour Charm on her neck; he knew it wasn’t the time, but it had bothered him all day and he wanted it covered. He hoped she wouldn’t question his confidence in his Glamour, but he supposed he could always tell her he covered his Dark Mark. She already believed he was a Death Eater, so what difference would it make. As Draco came to the place he should have slowed and turned, he hurled his right hand and arm forward, forcing his knuckles to slam into the stone wall. Releasing that anger, that hate, felt good, but the pain it brought felt better.

I am real. I have control. This pain is mine. Caused by me. Stopped by me. 

It wasn’t enough though. Draco tore off his shirt, and dropped the Glamour Charms. He stared at the horrid mark on his left arm. He stumbled to his trunk. Kneeling in front of it he opened it and dug until he found what he wanted: his old potions blade. He kept it in case he broke his new one, but he needed it for this. Draco brought the point of the blade to his arm, pushed down, and pulled the metal across his black stained flesh. The skin should have sliced, poured crimson, but only the unmarked skin opened. His Dark Mark burned, not like he was being summoned, but like fire was eating him from the inside. Draco’s lungs emptied on a scream and he dropped the knife, moving his right hand to clutch his arm. The searing pain ebbed, but a throbbing pain radiating from the mark remained. He could feel it in his shoulder and he silently hoped that it wouldn’t get any worse. This pain, it was not his and he could not control it or stop it.

Draco was quite thankful that he had placed one way silencing charms on his room so that Hermione wouldn’t be able to hear him screaming or thrashing around during a nightmare. He didn’t know how he would explain what he was doing if she were to hear and try to come to his rescue. He believed, the way the people believe in gravity, that he couldn’t be rescued from this. 

***

Hermione felt awful. After she stopped and thought about what she had said to Draco she realized that she implied that she didn’t think he was good enough for someone like her. She scoffed at the thought. She knew that he was on the wrong side of things, but she also knew -- or hoped -- that he didn’t want to be. At the beginning of the year, Hermione thought he was evil, but after he exposed a bit of himself and told her that he didn’t believe in blood purity, she started to pick up on little things that told a story other than the narrative Draco tried to create. It was thinking about this that gave Hermione an idea. She still wasn’t sure why she would have kissed Draco while intoxicated, and she desperately wanted to know what could have drawn her to him. She sat at her desk and took out a piece of parchment and quill. She chastised herself for not thinking of a list sooner, but she resolved to be more mindful of solutions to personal problems in the future. Hermione thought back, and began writing a list of the good things Draco had done, or been, or said, or shown her about himself.   
Doesn’t believe in blood purity  
Made Draught of Peace  
Hermione remembered how Draco had been so aggressive when he realized how small she was. It was like he was covering his compassion with aggression. She thought back to some of his other aggressive taunts or jabs over the years. Hermione remembered the Quidditch World Cup and the way Draco had taunted her with her heritage. She couldn’t be sure, but she felt like he was trying to remind them of the danger that she was in. She certainly hadn’t been consciously thinking of it.  
Helped me with potion  
Hermione had thought that Draco only scored higher than her in potions because Snape played favorites, but this year she realized that he was quite distinguished in the field. Not only could he brew Draught of Peace, but he explained some of the issues she was having while trying to brew Chelidonium Miniscula. Which reminded her…  
intelligent  
sense of humor  
Even though his jokes were often made at the expense of other people, he was quite witty. She remembered walking out of her room in the middle of the night, needing to visit the loo, and he laughed at the sight of her. “How do you sleep with those curls?” They were uncharacteristically wild that particular night. “I’m surprised they don’t suffocate you in your sleep.” His voice hadn’t been demeaning or cruel, but it was light, and his lips had curled into a tight smile. She had laughed with him, claiming that her curls knew better than to kill their master. She realized that a lot of the things he said were quite humorous, though his voice and their history oftentimes transformed it to an insult. She wondered what exactly he was trying to hide.  
Attractive  
Hermione stopped writing and stared at the word. She hadn’t thought about it before she wrote it, it just happened. She had to admit, though, she did find his tall, toned body appealing. 

Hermione set her quill down, staring at the list in front of her. Her eyes widened in realization as she uttered the words, “I like Draco Malfoy.”

***

Draco heard Hermione mutter something under her breath and her chair scrape the floor. Her steps were soft but he could tell that she was walking up his side of the staircase so he rushed to recast the Glamour Charms, put a shirt back on, and hide the knife in his trunk. Draco met her at the door, opening it just as she raised her hand to knock. 

 

"What do you want now?" Draco crossed his arms over his chest, careful to avoid jostling his left arm too much.

Hermione's cheeks heated. "I, well, I wanted to apologize."

Draco stared back, face frozen, hiding all trace of emotion.

She took a deep breath. “I really shouldn’t have said what I did, and I think I know how you took it, but that really wasn’t how I meant it, and I know that it really doesn’t matter how I meant it because I hurt your feelings and I made you feel like I look down on you or think poorly of you or something like that, but I don’t think that at all.” The words rushed from Hermione’s mouth and by the end of the rant she had to gasp for air. “I’m actually quite fond of you.” She smiled softly.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?” He didn’t actually feel like he deserved to get as upset as he did. She was right -- the mark he had just tried to desecrate proved that. He would always be marked as a Death Eater, trapped in that identity, even if he didn’t feel like he belonged there.

“I mean, well,--” She held up the parchment that she had made her list on. “--I made a list, of your good qualities.”

“A few good qualities don’t mean anything, Granger, you know that.”

So this was how it was going to be. He was back to calling her by her surname. He was back to distancing himself. Back to being covered in ice.

“My name is Hermione, and you know that. Stop shutting me out. I’m apologizing and telling you all of this because I was being stupid.”

“Hermione Granger admitting to being stupid, someone mark the date.”

Hermione shoved Draco’s shoulder playfully. He winced, then tried to cover it up with a glare. She caught it anyway and narrowed her eyes at him. “What was that about?”

Draco searched his mind for a believable lie. Quidditch accident? No. Spell backfire? No. Mudblood? No. No. No. “I’m sore from pushups.” Seriously? Spending so much time with a Gryffindor is effecting my lying?

She looked at him like she was going to press him further, then changed her mind. “I really am sorry.” She looked at her feet, but before she lowered her gaze he thought he noticed a glassiness to her eyes.

“It’s okay.” His hand grabbed her wrist and he pulled her into his room and to his bed.

She jerked out of his grasp, standing her ground. “No, it isn’t. I’ve been trying to convince you that The Order would accept you, and I made you feel like I wasn’t accepting you.” Her hands flew to her face. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears, again. He didn’t know what do, how to handle this. “Hermione, please, I...” He started pacing again. “I don’t expect anything different. I’ve already told you that I know people won’t accept me. I know my life is fucked. I know that nothing I do matters. Just, forgive yourself for saying what everyone else would think.”

Hermione’s hands dropped and she stared back at him appalled. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” She stepped forward, stopping in the line of his pacing.

He tried to walk around her, but she slid sideways blocking his movement. “Yes.” He knew he was being short, but he was trying to hold himself together. She wasn’t letting him pace, and he could feel the anxiety building in his chest, threatening to overtake him.

“I told you, I didn’t mean it the way I said it. I just didn’t know why I would kiss you. What about me was attracted to you. I wasn’t questioning you, not really, I was questioning myself. I’m sorry. I want you to know that once I stopped and thought about everything, I like you. I know you, and I like what I know.”

What Hermione wasn’t realizing was it was less important how she perceived Draco and more important how Draco perceived himself. 

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I already told you it was alright, what do you want?”

Hermione thought about it. She wasn’t sure what she expected from him. 

“I guess you deserve to know that part of the reason that I got so upset was because I like you too, and I’ve known that for a while now.”

“Really?!” She smiled. 

“Really.” He nodded. “I’m sorry I got you drunk and took advantage of you.” Draco smirked. 

“Who says I wasn’t the one to take advantage of you?” She poked his chest.

“That would be very Slytherin of you.” His eyebrows raised. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked to the door. She turned in the doorway, placing her hand on the frame. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

***

Draco and Hermione hadn’t talked about sides, or beliefs, or really anything for a few days. Instead, they were trying to be normal teenagers trying to start a relationship. They talked. They ranted about homework. They asked each other questions and let those questions take them to new discoveries.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t really expect it to be Slytherin green did you?” He smirked.

“Well, sort of.”

“No. I like the color, and it was my favorite when I was little. Now I find it too overbearing.”

“And blue isn’t?” Her lips pulled at the sides.

“Not bright blue, or anything like that. Steel blue.”

“The color of your eyes?”

Draco scoffed. “I am not that pompous. My eyes are grey.” Draco closed the gap between them, held his face directly in front of Hermione’s, and widened his eyes.

She looked into his eyes, noticing that while they were grey. Flecks of slightly darker and lighter shades mixed to form irises resembling pools of mercury. “So they are.”

“Your eyes aren’t brown.” He grabbed the tops of her arms as she started to move away.

“Yes they are,” she laughed.

“Well, yes I suppose they would be classified as brown. But they are more than just brown. There are flecks of yellow.”

She raised her eyebrow.

His lips curled into a smile big enough to show a sliver of his white teeth. “Stop. You have been spending too much time with me, Hermione.”

Their banter and laughing continued, until they both settled down and began working on homework. It wouldn’t do for the Head Boy and Head Girl to miss an assignment because they were too busy in their budding romance. Time ticked on, as did the rest of the world and their problems.

Draco was sitting at his desk. Hermione was sitting at her own. It was getting late, but he was right in the middle of a potions assignment. Suddenly, a grey owl swooped in through the window and dropped a letter at Draco’s hands. It pecked at his arm for a few moments then swooped back out into the night. His hands shook while he stared at the heavy envelop sealed with a silver wax ‘M’, knowing that the weighty letter had come from his father’s desk. He took a deep breath and slid his long finger under the wax, wondering what could warrant a letter at such an hour, and removed the crisp parchment. He had barely begun to read when he felt the bile rising in his throat. Words spun in his head: ‘your mother’, ‘he’, ‘angry’, ‘violent’, ‘excuses’, ‘punishment’, ‘finish this’. His father had written in hasty penmanship to inform him that The Dark Lord had taken his mother, and was holding it over his family until he could be successful. Feeling the bile rise in his throat again and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to swallow it this time, he rushed to the bathroom. 

Hermione had noticed the owl and thought it strange for anyone to be getting a letter this late at night, but she didn’t pay it much attention; instead, she continued to read, until she heard Draco running. She turned to the noise, and watched as he hurled himself into the bathroom. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she walked to his desk and glanced at the letter that had elicited such a strong response. She read the first few sentences and realized that something was wrong. She had barely touched the paper when the parchment was engulfed in a green flame.

Fuck

“How much did you read?” He was behind her.

“I-- I’m sorry.”

“How much did you read, Hermione?” His voice was forceful, but he didn’t seem angry.

“I got the gist of it.”

“Shit.”

“What is it that you are expected to do?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“I also know that you have a choice.”

“I’ve never had a choice, Hermione, we have talked about this.”

“Let’s go talk to Dumbledore. He-”

“He has my mother.” Draco’s voice had no trace of hope in it. He knew what he had to do.

“No. No. No.”

“Yes, the letter you enflamed clearly stated--”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have a choice.”

“What’s my alternative, oh wise one?” He ground his teeth. She didn’t understand. How could she, she was on the right side of this and everyone who she loved was too. Everyone she loved was safe.

“Be a spy.” Hermione held her breath. Had she really just asked Draco Malfoy to switch sides again? To help The Order kill Voldemort? To put himself in further danger? She had. She wasn’t really asking this time, she was begging - and she would not give up. Now he was piercing her with his eyes. “So?” Her voice shook.

***

He couldn’t believe that she was asking him this yet again. He thought they had made a silent agreement to ignore this. How could he just decide to change sides and put his mother in further danger. He slid his long fingers through his hair, taking a fistful of it and pulling. It wasn’t much but the little bit of pain it offered kept him tethered, it kept him in control. “They won’t want me.” His lack of hope was evident in his voice. He both sounded and felt defeated.

“Trust me.” Her eyes smiled even though her mouth didn’t dare. “Eventually everyone would get over their misconceptions”

Malfoy thumbed the tip of his wand. “Why shouldn’t I just obliviate this conversation, the letter, make you forget it all?” He didn’t want to. He hoped she didn’t want that either.

“Hmm,” She bit her lip. “That does seem like it would make things much simpler, doesn’t it.”

His face fell. He didn't want to Obliviate her, he just wanted her to drop it.

“Relax. I said seem.” She slid her hands into his, breaking his connection with his wand. “It wouldn’t make things simpler, Draco, it would take away your choice.” She looked down to see his fingers stroking her own. “Rather, your sense of choice.”

“Huh?” His eyes snapped her hers, brow furrowed.

“You have always had a choice, you--”

“No! I haven’t,” he protested. How could she not see that? His entire life he had been pushed and pushed and pushed. Told he wasn’t good enough to be a Malfoy, told he wasn’t good enough to be a Death Eater, told he wasn’t good enough. His heart started beating faster.

“If you would allow me to finish,” she scolded.

He looked down and bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. This wasn’t going to help him for much longer. He could feel the panic sweeping over him, he could feel the world’s edges blurring.

“You were presented with an impossible choice, but you always had a choice.”

“What’s-the-fucking-difference?” He gasped between words.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “What, what’s wrong?”

He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t extract enough oxygen from the air around him. His body was betraying him. Then he was choking. His hands tightened around Hermione’s, crushing her fingers.

“Draco, you’re--” she winced in pain, then, seeing the terror in his eyes, thought better of her statement.

He should have escaped sooner. Should have retreated and taken care of this.

He was drowning in his thoughts. I’m dying. No. No. No, I’m not. This has happened before. But this time, what if I die this time? I’m insane. I can’t breathe. Fuck. She’s here. She’s seeing this. She is going to think I’m crazy. I can’t breathe. I am crazy.

Draco crumpled to the floor, dragging Hermione with him, gasping for air. His fingernails were pressing into Hermione’s hands and would leave crescent shapes. Finally, Draco inhaled deeply and exhaled completely. His grip on Hermione’s hands loosened, but he didn’t release them; the contact was too comforting to relinquish. He wanted to wipe away the tears that had escaped and rolled down his cheeks and moistened his neck, but he couldn’t let go of her.

Unsure of what had happened and what there was to do about it, Hermione waited, but after a few moments of no movement or noise from Draco she broke the silence. “Draco, what was that?”

He shook his head. “I thought you of all people would know.”

“Why?”

“It’s more common amongst Muggles than wizards.” His face blushed. “They call it a panic attack.”

Her mind swirled, trying to recall any amount of information that she had. There was nothing in her catalog of knowledge. She may have been Muggle-born, but she wasn’t schooled in the Muggle world long, and her interactions with Muggles had been quite limited since her childhood. “I don’t recall ever learning about that.” She bit at her lip. “First, are you okay?”

“Uhm.” He fidgeted, feeling exposed.

Hermione knew he was uncomfortable with the question and not his position on the floor, but she stood and extended her hand to help him up regardless. “Let’s move to the couch.”

Hermione sat with one leg bent and on the couch, facing him. He lifted his feet onto the couch, bringing his knees to his chest, and burying his face in his hands.

She allowed her hand to slide up his arm and she rubbed his back. She had never seen anyone this upset before.

After a few moments he looked up, red faced. “Have you ever been in a situation where your heart rate goes up because you are so afraid?”

“Any time I even think about getting on a broom.”

He squinted his eyes. He loved flying, but that was a conversation for another day. “Okay, so it feels kind of like that. But...” He rubbed his face with his hands.

“You can tell me.” She stroked his back, noticing the luxurious quality of his robes. “You can trust me.”

“It’s all in my head, Hermione.” His hands shook. “And it’s not always like this. There’s actually danger right now. Sometimes it’s just because there’s a mess that I’m afraid I’ll get in trouble for, but I can’t clean it up in time, or I misplaced something, or I have a lot of homework, or anything.

She nodded begging for more information, trying to understand. “How many times has this happened?”

“I lost track.” Draco now rubbed his temples.

“When did it start?” She tried to hide the concern in her voice.

He didn’t want to answer that question. He didn’t really know how to. “It’s not that simple.”

“Help me understand, Draco.”

“It didn’t used to be this bad.”

“Well, when did it get ‘bad’?”

“After he came back.”

She made a soft noise, but he couldn’t decide what it meant until she was pulling him into her arms. “I’m here.”

He couldn’t stop himself. Suddenly, he began sobbing. He grabbed at her arms, wanting more of the embrace she was offering. He hadn’t been held in so long.

She let him pull her close and tried to comfort him through the pain. The sobbing eased to more gentle tears and he eventually fell asleep. Hermione knew he needed the sleep, so she didn’t try to get up. Instead, she shifted slightly so her head could rest on the back of the couch and after deciding that the best thing to do would be to research all of this tomorrow, allowed herself to drift to sleep as well.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione opened her eyes to an empty common room. She had hoped that Draco would still be there so they could talk about the night previous, but she reminded herself that Draco would want to take time to recenter himself and decide what he was going to do. It was all for the best, she had to admit, because Hermione herself could offer nothing more than a listening ear and a warm embrace. She thought about what she could do then remembered her promise to herself to solve more personal issues logically. She got ready quickly, ignoring her desire to cover the bite mark that she knew was glamoured, grabbed her bag, and rushed out the door to the library.

Hermione went straight to the Healer section and began scanning book titles for something that could be useful. At the end, she decided to start her search in “An Introduction to Healing: Healing the Mind, Body, and Spirit.” Hermione found quickly that the mind that the title was referring to was the mind augmented by magic and she abandoned her reading. She was thumbing through another introductory text when she remembered something that Draco had said. He had been surprised that she didn’t know what was happening because he was under the impression that panic attacks were more common in Muggles. Hermione shook her head at her shortsightedness as she walked to the back of the library where there was a small section of Muggle literature and academic research. Most of it was outdated, but she thought she may be able to find something on the matter before she could get her parents to mail her a book or three.

Thankfully, Hermione found one old textbook titled “Health and Wellness”. She quickly turned to the table of contents and was pleased when she saw an entire chapter dedicated to mental health. If Hermione were truthful, she would have to admit that she felt a bit like a failure. The feeling grew stronger the more she read. Firstly, she herself had struggled with crippling anxiety at the beginning of the year, and was still overcome by it from time-to-time, but she never thought to research it beyond what Madam Pomfrey had told her. If she had, she was almost certain that she would have figured out that Draco was struggling months ago. She had been noticing odd behaviors since the beginning of the year, but not knowing any better she assumed that he was just odd. She decided that a list helped her before, so it would surely help her this time as well. She drew a line under the notes she had made from the book and tried to pinpoint all of the things Draco had done or said that were a piece to this puzzle. Her mind darted from thing-to-thing, with no certain logical path. She scribbled down things that she knew were problems, things that made her pause in the moment, and things that felt different but could simply be Draco’s personality.  
Panic attack  
Letter - What is he expected to do?  
“I know my life is fucked”  
Reading constantly  
Insomnia  
Knows how to brew Draught of Peace  
Zoning out  
Anger  
Issue with Clutter  
Winced when pushed shoulder  
Obscene amount of bathroom time  
Spends a lot of time in common room  
Lack of friends  
Glamour Charm  
Shimmer - first night

Hermione had forgotten about that odd shimmer that she saw, but once she thought more about Draco’s confidence (that was not unfounded) in his Glamour Charm, she remembered it. While Glamour Charms don’t always shimmer, they do when they are weak or beginning to fail. It had been part of the reason that Hermione didn’t trust her own to cover the bite mark, being afraid that Ginny would notice, and make assumptions about what it meant. Knowing that Draco said his Glamour Charm would last until her bite mark healed, she wondered what Draco could have been hiding for that long that it was beginning to shimmer. Then she wondered if he was still hiding it. There was the possibility, she thought, that he really was a Death Eater and he was hiding the evidence, but she wasn’t convinced. She decided that the most logical course of action would be to ask him about it. She decided to wait to talk to him until after lunch, as then they would have a big chunk of time to talk. Lately, he had taken to reading in their common room on Saturday, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to seek him out, she rationalized.

Noting that she had a few hours until lunch, Hermione decided to owl her parents and ask for them to find her some more substantial information. She penned something brief, asking them for their assistance and ensuring them that it was something she was dealing with as the Head Girl, not a personal matter. She supposed that this was true enough, but she really just didn’t want her parents to worry about her. For added precaution she added some details about her week, and assignments. She took her letter to the owlery, attached it to a school owl, and then made her way back to the library to work on some research for potions.

***

Hermione closed her book, pleased with the research she had had accomplished before lunch, and rolled the parchment she had taken notes on into a tight roll and stowed it away in her bag. As Hermione stood she saw Harry walking toward her, face pinched in an expression she was sick of seeing on him. “What's wrong?” Hermione barely recognized her own voice. 

Harry’s eyes softened as he shook his head. “What isn't wrong, Hermione?”

She nodded and made a brief noise of agreement in the back of her throat. “Yes, Harry, I'm well aware that we are in the middle of a war. What specifically has you worried and hunting me down?”

“Who says I'm hunting you down?”

“Take a look around, you're in the library.” Her lips curved into a soft smile.

Harry sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair. “I'm just worried about you.”

“Come again?”

Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the library while he continued, “You haven't been yourself lately.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “You're going to have to be more specific, Harry.”

“You've been spending a lot of time with Malfoy. You know he's bad news, I'm sure he's taken the Dark Mark. I just want to make sure you're safe.”

Hermione stopped, dropped Harry’s hand and stared at him. She clenched her jaw, took a deep breath and pushed a finger into his chest. “Harry James Potter, you best listen because I will not repeat this. Draco is not a bad person. I will not tolerate you spouting the the same kind of intolerance that you claim to be fighting against. I have been spending a lot of time with Draco, because we are friends. You will do well to remember that we are supposed to be friends as well.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Harry interjected. 

“I was a right mess at the beginning of the year, had lost nearly twenty pounds from the stress of this war, and neither you nor Ron noticed. If it weren't for Draco I have no idea what would've happened.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and watched Harry’s face melt from indignation to concern. “Also, even if Draco did have a mark, you should trust me.” She huffed, turned on her heel, and stomped back to her dorm leaving Harry alone in the corridor to think.

Meanwhile, Draco sat in front of the fire picking at a loose thread on his robes. He had woken up far too early to be classified as morning, and when the reality of the night previous hit him he couldn’t sit still. Instead of trying, he put on his cloak, palmed his wand, and made his way to the grounds. It was cold, but the charms on his cloak made it a tad warmer. The cold that remained was a welcome reminder that he was still capable of feeling. Hours later he returned to his dormitory, and was relieved to see that Hermione wasn’t present. He knew she would want to talk to him, but he wasn’t prepared for the kind of conversation that she would want to have. He showered and dressed quickly, then settled in front of the fire to think.

He sifted through paranoid thoughts, considering how to approach the subject with Hermione when she inevitably brought it up. He could open up to her. He could tell her everything. He could hope that it wouldn’t change the way she felt about him. No. He couldn’t do any of that. As much as he wanted to talk to her about his utter misery, he couldn’t trust anyone with this. What good would it do? Best case scenario she would realize how much of a Death Eater freak he was, and worse case she would tell someone and land him in St. Mungo’s and then Azkaban. He was still considering this when the portrait hole opened and Hermione walked in.

He jumped when she slammed her bag down. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that she hadn't noticed. “What's wrong?”

Hermione’s head jerked toward his voice. “Nothing, I'm fine.” She stomped to her desk, grabbed a few books off her shelf, and slammed them onto her desk. Normally Harry didn't upset Hermione like that, normally he was more considerate. Sure, he was often distracted, and the distraction was only increasing as the war loomed closer, but he was a good person who cared about people. The problem then, was that he didn't view Draco Malfoy as a person. To Harry, Draco had always been, and would always be, nothing more than a cluster of carbon put together by a Death Eater and a Pure-blooded bitch. She meant what she said to Harry, he was being a hypocrite. It infuriated her, as much for Draco as for herself.

“Hermione?” Draco hesitated.

“What,” Hermione snapped.

“Are you upset with me?” He kept his eyes trained on her face.

Hermione stopped throwing things around her desk and her eyebrows pulled together. “Of course not. Why would I be upset with you?”

“Last night.”

“Last night? Draco, last night was not your fault-”

Draco cut her off with a scoff. He jumped from his seat, and began to pace.

“It wasn't,” Hermione nearly screamed, while throwing her hands in the air.

“Then, pray tell, why are you screaming and slamming things around? I haven't seen you this upset since fourth year.”

She huffed. She didn't want to provide reason for Draco to feel like he wouldn’t be accepted by The Order. She didn't want to lie to him, either. “Harry and I got into an argument.” She moved to him, wrapping her arms around his muscular frame and resting her cheek on his chest. “I'm sorry for worrying you. It will be fine.” She tilted her face up, meeting his eyes. “I would like to talk to you about last night, though.”

He stiffened. “I assumed as much.”

“Draco, that was scary,” she mumbled into his chest. She hadn't intended on saying it, but the helplessness she felt watching him fall apart had been eating at her all day. Knowing that he had experienced that before, and alone, left her feeling even more helpless.

“I know.” His arms slid around her and tightened.

“I did some research.”

He smirked, though she could not see it. He knew she would. “And…”

“There wasn't anything in the Healer section, but I did find a few things in a Muggle health textbook, and I've owled my parents asking for them to send me something more substantial.”

Draco rubbed at his temples.

“I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner.”

His heart jumped. He swallowed. She noticed. She pulled back, studying his face. “What was that?”

“What was what?” His face was blank. He had schooled his features long enough. She would not find his secrets there. At least not tonight.

“You’re hiding something.”

He forced out a laugh and walked to the chair he had previously occupied. “Really, Hermione, you're paranoid.”

She followed him, allowed him to settle into the chair, then moved closer. She leaned over, placing one hand on each side of him. She narrowed her eyes. “No, I'm not.”

He stiffened. She was not supposed to be that intimidating.

Hermione straightened. “What have you been Glamouring?” She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and the little color he had drain from his face. At the realization that she found something her heart rate increased. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. “Draco…”

His mouth opened only to snap shut. He couldn't answer. He didn't know how.

“I've already told you that I do not care if you've taken the mark.” He nodded. 

Hermione didn't have to spend the morning pouring over a chapter on Mental Health and thinking about the things she had seen from Draco to know that the look he was giving her right now meant he was horrified. She knew that a reaction that strong coming from him meant that she was about to find something devastating. She couldn't wait for him to answer. 

She moved quickly, grabbing her wand from her back pocket and cancelling any and all charms Draco had placed on himself. Seeing no immediate change, Hermione realized that he had worn a long sleeve shirt, and she needed it off. She stepped forward carefully, as if Draco were a hippogriff. His eyes followed her every movement.

He knew that the only reason he was calm in that moment was because of fresh cuts on his wrist. His mind reeled, he was trapped and she knew it.

She moved for the buttons on his shirt, but his hands grabbed her wrists. “Hermione,” he pleaded.

“Draco.” It was her answer. She was not backing down.

He closed his eyes. “Don’t hate me.”

She jerked her arms out of his hands. “Fuck, Draco, what is it?” And her hands were ripping at his buttons. He didn’t dare open his eyes.

She sank to her knees at his side, staring at his bare chest and arms. Hot tears filled her eyes as she looked at the assortment of scars and healing wounds. Then she saw the dripping blood.

He was exposed.

“Explain,” she demanded.

“I can’t.” His voice quivvered.

“Then we are going to Madam Pomfrey.” She grabbed his arm and pulled at him.

He caught her wrist. “No,” he choked, “I--I’ll try.”

“That doesn’t mean we aren’t going to her once you’ve explained.” She was angry. 

The sobbing was immediate.

“Draco.” She sighed and allowed the sternness to fall from her voice. She wasn’t mad, she was afraid. “Look at me.” She couldn’t decide if she was demanding or begging.

He lifted his head and looked at her lips, not able to meet her eyes. “It stops the panic.” His chest heaved.

“Wait. You-” She closed her mouth, unable to say what she was thinking. Surely not. People didn’t do that, did they?

“Yes, Hermione, I’m doing it to myself.”

She pursed her lips, “When did it start?”

“Last school year.”

Her eyes widened. How could he have hid this for so long? How did he think this helped? She placed her hand on his chest. He flinched, not because it hurt physically, but because emotionally he was unguarded and raw.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione didn’t know what to do. It had been two days since she had confronted Draco and she was still just as lost. They had talked for a long time, her demanding he tell her how and when and why. He explained that it started slowly, without him really realizing what he was doing - biting the inside of his cheek, scratching until the first few layers of skin were gone. It evolved to what it was now - cutting with anything sharp enough to cut skin and draw blood. He told her about his father, his yelling and unwillingness to show approval and anything resembling care. He explained how he didn’t feel like he would ever be enough to make his father proud. He talked about the facade he used to mask his inner demons. He had been taught from an early age that he wasn’t to discuss family matters with anyone, or show his fear, sadness, or even elation. His father had chastised him endlessly when he “acted like a girl of Muggle”. He explained that his parents bought him all sorts of things, but his father manipulated him with gifts. Instead of an apology, or an ounce of compassion Lucius would send a new toy or treat. Draco grew up being reminded regularly that blood-traitors were disowned, and left penniless. He revealed that Aunt Bella was quite fond of telling horrible stories featuring “The blood-traitor bitch”. He held out his left arm, revealing his Dark Mark and explained that he never had a choice about taking it. His father said he would, the Dark Lord wanted him, so it was take the mark or be killed. He knew too much at that point and not taking it would be viewed as being a blood-traitor, even if he wasn’t one. 

Hermione listened, mentally cataloging everything that he said. She tried to remain analytical, so that she could provide help rather than dissolve into a puddle of tears, but it was a challenging task. She put together that Draco didn’t feel like he had agency in his life. So many choices were taken away from him, so he took hold of something he could control. She realized that the pain, as a sensory input, could keep him mentally focused on the physical so that the panic wouldn’t overtake him. She inferred that there was a lot that he wasn’t telling her, wasn’t ready to tell her. It was clear to her that Draco did care about his parents, even if in Hermione’s opinion they had never acted like a mum and dad. She knew that there was a lot of pain he was hiding. She didn’t push, even when she desperately wanted more information. She reminded herself that she was the only person he had ever told these things to. After it seemed that he had said everything that he was going to he had begged Hermione not to tell anyone. Hermione had told him that she needed to think, and read, and that no matter what she was there for him. He nodded, with wide fearful eyes. She hugged him firmly, then asked him if he wanted some tea. He shook his head, and told her goodnight, climbing his staircase and retreating to his bedroom. She worried her lip, considering all of the things he had told her. She had no idea what to do with the information, and she didn’t know if she should be concerned that he had retreated to a private place and closed the door.

The two days of thinking hadn’t provided much clarity; she still didn’t know what to do. She had temporarily decided to wait to make too many decisions or comments to Draco until her parents sent her some books, she simply didn’t know a lot about mental health, and while she was a Gryffindor, she wasn’t too reckless to forge ahead in this without researching and considering all possible options. She hoped that whatever they sent didn’t just talk about anxiety and panic attacks, but also self-harm. 

She couldn’t make sense of how it helped. Hermione had always been quite averse to any kind of pain, and so the idea of making herself bleed and scar was horrifying. She was trying to understand, though. She wanted to know how common it was, why people did it, how it worked, and how dangerous it was. Draco had refused to let her look too closely, or heal anything, and she didn’t want to push and make him uncomfortable. She had asked him to come and talk to her if he felt like he was panicking or wanted to cut, but she wasn’t sure that he would.

The next morning Hermione was nearly giddy when she received a parcel from her parents. She didn’t dare open it at the table, but told her curious friends that it was a book. They simply rolled their eyes and made a joke about Hermione’s insatiable hunger for knowledge. She ate a few bites, slipped an apple into her bag and returned to her dormitory. As soon as she got there, she ripped into the package, nodding as she scanned the letter her parents had included. Her dad had some old psychology textbooks from when he was trying to decide what he wanted to do, and he sent those, as well as some more up-to-date internet printouts. He told her to read that and see if she thought she needed anything else.

Hermione set to the index first, searching for anything on self-harm. One of the three books her father had sent had a chapter on it, and she read that first.

Hermione learned that there were significant dangers to self-harm. Risk of infection and accidental death were two of the more serious. Hermione wondered if it was as much of a risk in the wizarding world with such Healing. Blood Replenishing Potion, Wound Cleaning Potion, and Anti-Fect Potion were easy enough to make. Considering Draco could so easily make Calming Draught she only assumed he had his own stock of the others.

What concerned Hermione the most was the reason behind the self-harm: to cope. From the way that Draco spoke, it sort of worked. Of course it was temporary - but most coping mechanisms are - but it was dangerous and would potentially cause more harm than help. Hermione would love to talk to a professor about this, but she had no idea who she could really talk to. Normally she would go to her head of house but McGonagall hated Draco, all Slytherins really. While Hermione doubted that the witch would refuse to help, she may be more inclined to throw him in St. Mungo’s or Azkaban. Snape was furious about his missing supplies earlier in the year, and was infamously unsympathetic. She doubted anyone in the wizarding world even knew about this kind of coping. It was clear to her now that not only had she been dealing with anxiety, but there were definitely times when Harry had been struggling with depression. She had always thought his tendency to pull away and shut down, refusing to talk about his parents, his aunt and uncle, the war, anything, was a boy thing, or part of who he was. Now she saw that he was struggling too and she decided to not only help Draco, but then Harry. After that she would talk to Ginny who she suspected was harboring some misplaced guilt from what happened to her as a first year. Hermione was determined after that to enact some kind of system for this in the magical world.

She was getting ahead of herself, though. She needed to focus her thoughts on Draco, at least for now.

The fact that there were romantic feelings involved didn’t make this any easier either. She wasn’t in love with him. It was far too early in this relationship to even consider something like that. Honestly, they didn’t really know each other - not deeply, not underneath their carefully crafted facades. They both had them, and they both knew it.

Hermione’s thoughts were interrupted when Draco walked out of his bedroom. He stopped on the stairs, clearly surprised to see her. Normally she would be at the library, but she wanted privacy to read what her parents had sent her.

“Is everything alright?” His words came out choppy.

“Fine. I just got a package from mum and dad and wanted to open it here.” She shifted the books around so that the titles were hidden beneath parchment. She didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.

“I see.” He resumed walking. “Anything interesting?”

“Oh, just books.”

“Just books?” Draco narrowed his eyes. “I have never heard you discredit books in any way. What are these books about?” He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Uhm.” She wouldn’t lie to him. “Mental health.” He stiffened. “Please don’t get upset, I just needed to know more.”

He released a heavy breath. “I knew you would look for information. It’s fine.”

She turned around to look him in the eye. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” He lifted a hand and pushed his fingers through his hair. It really was getting long. “Look, I’m not good at this. Talking about things. It’s strange that you know. Bloody terrifying, really. But, I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to worry. You don’t have to research.”

She bit her lip. Was he trying to push her away now? “Oh, okay.” Hermione didn’t agree with him, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Not yet at least. She wanted him to trust her. She wanted him to feel like he could talk to her and tell her things. There were so many things to figure out. Draco’s self-harm, him technically being a Death Eater, his mission - which he still hadn’t divulged. “Talk to me before you do anything.”

He rubbed his face with his hands. “You said that the other night.”

“And you didn’t answer me then either.”

“We’re going to be late to class.” Draco slung his satchel across his body and rushed to the door.

Hermione sighed, gathered her things, and followed shortly behind wondering if she was making the right choice by not telling anyone.


	10. Chapter 10

If Draco thought he was paranoid before he was wrong. He trusted Hermione more than he trusted anyone, but that didn’t make her knowing his biggest secrets any easier. She held all of the necessary cards to completely ruin him. The way he saw it, there were three things Hermione could use against him. First, she knew he was a Death Eater. If she shared this with anyone it could get him killed, or sent to Azkaban. Second, she knew he didn’t want to be a Death Eater. If this information found its way to The Dark Lord or any of his followers he would be tortured and killed. Finally, there was the cutting. He honestly didn’t believe that she would do anything rash with her knowledge of him being a Death Eater and wanting out, but the cutting was a different story. He tried to downplay it after their initial conversation because he realized how dangerous her knowing was. The truth was, he was caught off guard when she cancelled all of the Glamours and forced his shirt off. He had never thought about a way to explain what he was doing. Sure, he had come up with a fair share of lies to cover his ass if someone caught a glimpse of something they shouldn’t. He had even brushed up on his mind modifying spells and Legilimency.

None of those things were going to help him now. Hermione hadn’t just glimpsed a speck of blood on his robes, she had seen everything. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had put it together on her own, so there was no telling how much mind modification would have been necessary. In the moment he saw no other way than to tell her everything. He had already opened up to her, so while it wasn’t easy to talk to her, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it could have been. Draco had told her everything, and now he was panicking. She kept asking him to talk to her, requesting that if he started to feel the panic bubble up he find her. She didn’t realize just how full of anxiety he was. If he went to her every time he wouldn’t ever leave her side.

He took a deep breath and threaded his fingers through his hair. He knew he needed a haircut, but he didn’t have the energy or patience for it. He had been sitting at his desk staring at Runes for an hour, unable to concentrate long enough to translate a single sentence, lost in his head.

This was not the life he wanted.

So he asked himself what life he did want. What was it that Hermione kept telling him?  _ “You have a choice.” _  He pondered the idea. What did he want? What kind of choice could he make? He thought about The Dark Lord. His mission to kill Dumbledore. His father. Oh, then there was his mother. She was being forced to do who knew what and being tortured because he couldn’t finish his mission. Could he really finish it, though?

No.

He had known for a while that he would never be able to kill someone. Not for a cause he didn’t believe in, at least. Not when that cause was so fucked up it aimed to eliminate the only person who truly seemed to care about him.

Draco whispered, “Hey, Hermione.”

“Yeah?” She looked up from her own papers. It really was amazing how concentrated she could be on homework. She had no idea that Draco had made the biggest decision of his life a mere five feet from her.

“Can you go talk to Dumbledore with me?” He held his breath. 

Her eyes went wide. “Dumbledore? Now?” She shot up. “Of course!” Grabbing his hand she started toward the portrait hole and was dragging him along with her.

When they were nearly there he stopped moving, pulling on her hand. “Hold on.”

She looked back, concern etching her face.

“No, I’ve already made up my mind, but I don’t want to tell him about… about panic attacks and well, that stuff.”

Hermione looked down, worrying her own lip. “Okay. This is a big step. You’ll get there. I know you will.”

Draco chose not to comment on the fact that he didn’t think he would and allowed her to pull him the rest of the way to Dumbledore’s office.

Hermione provided the password and continued to pull Draco up the stairs, insisting that they walk even though the staircase moved. Once they arrived Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Hello there. Please, come sit.” He gestured toward two chairs placed in front of his desk. “Care for some tea?”

“No thank you, professor. I wonder if we could speak with you about a pressing issue?” Hermione’s words were firm and calm. She glanced at Draco, noting his blank expression.

“Of course, what is this pressing matter?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Draco. “I would like to ask for your help.”

“Help in what, Mr. Malfoy?” A small smile played on the wizard’s lips.

“I want to defect.”

Hermione cut in now, feeling that Draco wasn’t explaining his change of heart adequately. “He doesn’t believe all that pure-blood supremacy rubbish. His parents, they pushed it all on him, and didn’t give him-”

Professor Dumbledore held up his hand. “Miss Granger, thank you, I am quite aware of the kind of upbringing Mr. Malfoy has had to endure.” He turned back to Draco. “I must say, I am pleasantly surprised that you have decided to go this route. May I ask, what has swayed you in this direction?”

Draco glanced at Hermione. “Multiple things.”

“I see.” He smiled more openly. “Well, please, tell me about the current situation.”

They sat there for what felt like days, but in reality was only a few hours. Draco explained his mission, his mother’s likely torture, and the rest of the information he had regarding the plans Voldemort had. Draco found Dumbledore’s reaction to Draco’s orders to kill him odd, as he hardly seemed surprised, but he continued explaining everything. Once Draco had said everything he could think to tell him, Dumbledore clasped him on the shoulder and told him that he was proud he had made such a difficult, but admirable, choice. He told them both that he needed to speak with some other members of The Order, and would call them in to speak soon. Glancing at his pocket watch, he bid them farewell, informing them that he would have a house elf deliver dinner to their dormitory as they had talked through the meal.

Hermione and Draco walked silently back to their dormitory. Once safely inside, Hermione turned to look Draco in the eyes. “Are you alright?” She moved her hands to let them rest on his arms right above the bend.

“I… I don’t really think it’s hit me yet.” He blinked a few times. Everything felt fuzzy and his head throbbed.

“Of course.” Hermione led him to the sofa. “You should eat a bit, then you should try to sleep. You are probably exhausted.”

He only nodded, knowing that the likelihood of him being able to fall asleep was slim.

A spread of their favorites was left for them, but neither of them ate much, both lost in their own thoughts and worries. Hermione was concerned that Draco hadn’t said much to her. She was worried about his mother, and what would happen to his family if and when Voldemort found out about his decision to defect. Draco’s mind was occupied by similar things, as well as what he would be asked to do by The Order. Would he be asked to spy? Would other Order members trust him? What if a battle happened - would he be expected to fight, potentially kill, his friends, family, parents?

Draco stared into the fire, rubbing his temples. Hermione had excused herself after they had each pushed their food around their plates for an acceptable time to shower and Draco was avoiding going to bed to toss and turn until he fell into a nightmare. He kept going back to thinking about his parents. Disappointed couldn’t begin to describe the way that they would feel about him once they realized what he had done. They would disown him, certainly. Draco knew he couldn’t fight for Voldemort anymore, but he did love his parents, as bigoted as they were. He didn’t want to have to live his life knowing that they hated him, or worse, that his decision had cost them their lives.

Draco was rocking back and forth and biting his lip, trying to manage the tension building within himself when Hermione walked out of the bathroom. She leaned over the back of the sofa and rubbed circles into his back.

“Draco, please talk to me.”

Draco looked over his shoulder, meeting Hermione’s eyes. “I’m just thinking about everything.”

“No, you’re worrying.”

He stood up, turning to face her. “Of course I’m worrying. Hermione, my parents may die because of this.”

“No, Dumbledore won’t let that happen.”

“Dumbledore can’t possibly control everything. If he could, this war wouldn’t even be happening.”

Hermione huffed and plopped down onto the sofa, wet ringlets bouncing and leaving wet marks on her shirt. She rubbed her eyes. “I know. I just don’t want you to blame yourself.”

“Who else would I blame?” He sat down next to her.

She rested her hand on his thigh. “You-Know-Who. He is the one killing, and torturing, and tearing our world to shreds.”

He was silent, pondering her words and the subtle ways she had been touching him recently.

Finally, Hermione stood. “It’s late. We both need to sleep.” 

“I’m going to stay here tonight.” Draco rubbed his eyes.

Hermione’s eyes softened. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No, thanks, at least one of us should get a decent night’s sleep.”

She puckered her lips. “Come wake me up if you need to. I probably won’t sleep that well.” She squeezed his shoulder then entered her bedroom, leaving the door open as she climbed into bed and fell into a light sleep.

Draco summoned a book from his shelf and laid back on the sofa. He hoped that if he could distract his mind long enough he would be able to fall asleep. Maybe the story would implant itself in his subconscious and he would dream about the dragons and world saving. He knew it wasn’t likely, but had to try something.

An hour later, Draco had drifted to sleep, book abandoned on his chest. The dragons of his novel had followed him into his dream, but were unfortunately joined by his parents, Voldemort, and an assortment of masked Death Eaters. The dragons were circling around them, breathing fire and gnashing their teeth. Draco and his parents were tied together, though his father was screaming at him for his many failures, encircled by the Death Eaters. Voldemort killed his mother first, then began to torture his father. Once Lucius was whimpering from the pain, unable to even scream, a green light engulfed him. Voldemort trained his wand on Draco but before the curse hit him, he woke sweaty, crying, and tangled in his blanket. Draco sat up, running his fingers through his hair. He worked to steady his breath. It would have been easier if his dream was more fantastical. Unfortunately, it was likely that something similar to the dream would actually happen.

Draco’s breathing became erratic and uncontrolled. The air in his lungs didn’t feel right, like it wasn’t working. His arms started to tingle and he suddenly felt like he was choking on air. He forced his legs to take him to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

_ I can’t handle this. I can’t be the reason my parents are murdered. I can’t live like this. _

He stumbled to the cabinet, retrieving his straight razor, and slid to the floor. Holding the blade in his hand, still not breathing, he could only think,  _ I can still fix this. _

***

Hermione woke to her alarm. Though she didn’t sleep quite as well as she usually did, she slid out of bed, pulling on a jumper over her tank top, and walked out of her room. She intended on talking to Draco this morning and ensuring that he was alright, but where she expected to find him on the sofa she instead found a lone blanket twisted in on itself. She walked to his bedroom, only to find the door open and room empty. Hermione knocked on the bathroom door. No answer. She turned the knob and found it unlocked, but it appeared that the door itself was heavier than usual. She forced herself into the bathroom, unknowingly pushing Draco’s legs, and was assaulted by red. Their bathroom wasn’t supposed to be red. It was supposed to be white. White. Where was the white? Under all the red. Why was everything red? Blood. She saw him. His body. Pale. He was always pale, but this was different.

She dropped to her knees, fingers wrapping around his shoulders, and shook him. His eyes fluttered open and she felt herself release a breath that she hadn’t consciously held.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Hermione’s hands slid to Draco’s wrists and the deep cuts. “Blood Replenishing Potion? Do you have any?” She shook him again, begging him to respond.

He groaned and shook his head.

“Shit.” Hermione pushed her hair out of her face with her blood soaked hands. “What am I supposed to do?” She was screaming now, to herself more than to Draco.

“S--Snape.” Draco’s voice was cracked and weak.

Hermione shook herself. “Snape? Yes. He’ll have a potion.” Hermione ripped herself off the floor. “Don’t you dare fucking die.” Her voice left no room for comment. Then she was running, running to the dungeons, to Snape, to help.

She halted in front of the portrait she knew to guard Professor Snape’s living quarters. The knight in the painting stared at Hermione, and the blood covering her, but she didn’t give him a chance to question her. “I need Professor Snape, now! It’s an emergency!”

The shocked looking knight nodded and turned around. Moments later the portrait swung open and Severus walked out grumbling. “This  _ emergency _ better be just that. I do not-” He cut himself off and surveyed Hermione’s appearance. “Miss Granger, what’s happened?”

Hermione grabbed his hand, not caring who he was, and pulled him toward the dormitory she shared with Draco, and the boy so in need of assistance. “It’s Draco, sir. He, he, well, he needs help. Now!”

Though Severus wasn’t at all comfortable with being dragged through the corridors by a student, he understood that now was not the time to make that particular point known.

Severus followed behind Hermione, preparing himself for the mess he could find once they made it to their destination. He mentally ran through all of Draco’s classes, and the possible magical accidents he could have induced.

Hermione shouted the password for the dormitory as they neared the entry and they both ran into the living quarters. “Bathroom.” Hermione pointed to the open door. Severus was not prepared to see his godson lying on a bathroom floor coated in his own blood and covered in scars.

“What has he done?” Severus moved to check Draco’s pulse. While the boy wasn’t quiet, nothing coming from his mouth was coherent.

“I think, I think he tried to kill himself.” Hermione’s resolve fell and she began to sob. Her entire body shook as she watched the potions master open a port hole to his personal potion storeroom, force Draco’s mouth open, and empty three vials into his mouth.

He thrust a vial in her direction. “Calming Draught. All of it. Now.”

Her hands shook as she uncorked the vial and poured the contents down her throat. Instantly, her breathing steadied and heart rate slowed. She felt a calm clarity wash over her.

Severus moved his wand in intricate patterns over Draco, performing healing spells while he poured Essence of Dittany over his arms. 

“Miss Granger, why didn’t you go to Madame Pomfrey?”

“He asked for you.”

He nodded in response, not taking his eyes off of Draco.

Hermione briefly wondered why Draco would have requested Snape, but quickly rationalized that it made perfect sense as Snape was Draco’s Head of House.

“What did you give him?” Now that Hermione wasn’t hysterical she couldn’t contain her concern and curiosity.

“Blood Replenishing Potion, Calming Draught, and Dreamless Sleep.” Severus pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, sighing deeply.

“And he’ll be okay?”

“For now, Miss Granger.” For the first time Severus looked away from Draco and looked Hermione in the eye. “He’s quite lucky you found him when you did.”

A sob escaped her as she tried to run her fingers through her hair, but it was matted and she was sticky with blood. “I should have known he would try to do something like this.”

“Miss Granger, I do not claim to know everything about this situation, quite the contrary. However, I can assure you that you are not responsible for this.” Severus looked back to Draco. “I’m going to have to watch him for awhile. Let me levitate him to the sofa, and we will continue this conversation. I’m under the impression that there is much you have to tell me.”

Hermione nodded quietly and slowly stood up to move out of the way.

 

She walked to the sofa and picked up the blanket. Once Severus levitated Draco onto the sofa, she spread the blanket over him, tucking it in around him.

Severus flicked his wand to the hearth, lighting a fire, and settled into a chair. Hermione sat on the floor in front of the fire, staring at the flames and trying to warm herself. Severus summoned a blanket for her.

“Miss Granger?”

She turned to look at her professor. “Yes?”

“I know about Draco’s decision to defect, do you believe this has something to do with that?”

Hermione paused to think. “Maybe. However, there is more to it.”

Severus nodded. “Can you tell me what you know?”

Hermione swallowed. “Well, I’m sure you saw the scars.”

He nodded again, eyes wide, urging her to continue.

“A while ago Draco had a panic attack, uhm, like he couldn’t breath, but not because-”

Severus held up his hand. “Yes, I’m familiar with panic attacks, Miss Granger. Please go on.”

“Oh, well, Draco was under the impression that the magical community doesn’t know about them.” Hermione’s eyebrows drew together as she considered her own inability to find reference to the phenomenon in any wizarding books. “How do you know about them?”

“I am well educated in both the magical and Muggle world. How did you think he came to understand his ailment?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You?” Hermione shook her head. “So that’s how he got so good at brewing Draught of Peace.”

“Yes. Though he wasn’t supposed to break into my stores to do so.” Severus pursed his lips.

Hermione blushed. “Right, well, I’m not quite sure why he stopped taking Draught of Peace, I never actually thought to ask, stupid me.”

“I suspect that the Draught of Peace has stopped working, or as at least lost effectiveness. Unfortunately, it is not very effective for prolonged use.”

Hermione nodded. “Well, in lieu of that, he has been cutting himself. I’ve only just recently found out myself.” Her eyes took on a glassy look. “He begged me not to tell anyone, and I was just trying to figure everything out, and I thought he was okay, and didn’t think he would do anything serious, and then we talked to Dumbledore, but he got so quiet afterward, and I don’t think he thought it all through, but I was going to talk with him this morning, but then he wasn’t on the sofa or in his bedroom, and all the blood.” The words came out in a rush and left her gasping for air. Tears streaked her face.

Severus stood and crouched next to her. “You need to breathe. I know now. He’s okay. You’re okay. We’re going to figure this out.”

Hermione nodded, still trying to calm her breathing.

“For now, Miss Granger, I believe you should take a shower and get cleaned up. It will be some time before Draco wakes and then we can all discuss this matter further.”

“You’re not going to take him to the hospital wing?”

“Under normal circumstances I would, I assure you. However, not only did Draco request you get me, but he is also my godson. I have prior knowledge of his anxiety, his family situation, and his ties to The Dark Lord. Unfortunately, these circumstances are far from normal.”

“Thank you, Professor Snape. I, I’m going to try and shower now.” Hermione looked down at her hands and the dried blood cracking.

“I would recommend you use a different bathroom, but you are in no state to be walking through the castle.”

Hermione nodded. “I’ll be okay.”

Severus rose from his position and walked to the bathroom. He pointed his wand to the floor, walls, and fixtures Scourgifying each one in turn. He walked to the bookshelves and ran his fingers across one of the books Hermione had purchased earlier in the year for some extra reading in charms. “May I?”

Hermione glanced to him as she walked to her bedroom to retrieve a change of clothes. “Of course.”

A few moments later, Hermione was locking the bathroom door and peeling off her soiled clothes. She flicked her wand to turn on and adjust the water, and closed her eyes as she let the stream beat down on her.

She washed her hair and body three times, only opening her eyes and looking at the water when she was sure none of it would be tinged red. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was sure to be a long and stressful next few days.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione stepped out of the bathroom to find Draco in the same place on the couch and her professor sitting in a chair reading the book he had seemed interested in. She cleared her throat, and Snape turned to her.

“I’ve taken it upon myself to ask the house elves to bring lunch here, I doubt you’ve had anything to eat today.”

Hermione shook her head, biting her lip. She didn’t think she would be able to stomach much of anything today.

“It will be a bit yet, I was hoping Mr. Malfoy would be awake to join us.”

Hermione nodded.

“Do you feel like you could talk to me some more about this situation?”

It was strange for Hermione to hear Professor Snape talk like this. She would never call it caring, but the man definitely wasn’t being his usual inconsiderate self. No, it was not the potions master that she was used to dealing with.

“I’m not quite sure what you want to know, professor.” Hermione pulled her desk chair over to form the third point of a triangle between Professor Snape and Draco.

His lips puckered and he nodded. “You mentioned the cutting earlier, do you know how long Draco has been coping in this way?”

“He told me that it started sometime last school year.”

Severus rolled his neck and sighed. “Glamour Charms?”

Hermione nodded. Draco shifted. Both Severus and Hermione turned to the blond. He coughed, and Hermione walked to retrieve one of the tumblers she knew Draco kept in his desk, then filled it with water. Draco stilled, but Hermione could tell that he wasn’t asleep anymore.

“Draco,” she said, softly as if speaking to a child. “I have some water for you. Would you like help sitting up?”

Draco let out a sigh. “I think-” he coughed, “-I can manage.” He slid his legs off the sofa, letting his feet hit the floor heavily. He sat up, but slouched against the back.

Hermione handed him the water, and he drank greedily.

Severus cleared his throat. “Don’t drink too much, you need to eat as well and food with be arriving shortly.”

Draco started to lean up to set the tumbler on the low table, but had to close his eyes and steady himself with his free hand. Hermione plucked the tumbler from his hand and placed it on the table, then settled herself next to him.

“You’re going to be weak for some time, you lost quite a bit of blood and I had to use a lot of magic on you,” Snape said.

“Yes. Thank you. I don’t know what happened with my spellwork. Normally I’m quite adept at charming my straight razor to remove my facial hair.” Draco’s face was devoid of any emotion.

“Draco, do not act as if I am unintelligent. Miss Granger and I have been speaking for quite some time now, and I will not tolerate blatant lying.” Snape’s voice left no room for comment. “You have been injuring yourself and sometime last night you either went too far by accident or tried to kill yourself. Now, which was it?” 

Draco’s face heated. “Are you going to tell them?”

Severus’ voice took on a gentler tone, but he was still matter-of-fact. “If I were going to tell anyone I already would have.”

Draco nodded, twisting his hands in his lap. Hermione slid her hand to his thigh, mirroring her actions the night previous. “I tried to kill myself,” Draco whispered, squeezing his eyes closed.

Hermione bit her lip to stifle a gasp. She squeezed his thigh lightly.

“And why exactly would you do that?”

“I wanted to fix it.”

“Fix what, Draco?” Hermione gasped. Severus looked at her pointedly. Apparently she wasn’t supposed to be speaking at the moment. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Severus looked back to Draco. “Why would you dying fix anything?”

“I, I really can’t talk to you about this.”

“Because it regards you defecting?”

Draco’s eyes snapped to Severus’ and his face paled. “How do you know about that?”

“Albus Dumbledore didn’t want you to know this yet, but because of the circumstances I believe it is important that you know that I am a spy for The Order. I have been for years. He told me about your conversation with him.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Back to the task at hand. Why would you dying fix anything?”

“Because if I wasn’t around then maybe The Dark Lord wouldn’t kill my parents.”

“You know as well as I do that the logic  _ he  _ uses is far more abstract and, well, non-existent for anything like that to work.”

Draco balanced his elbows on his thighs, avoiding Hermione’s hand, and lowered his face to his hands. “I just can’t handle feeling like this all the time.”

“When did the Calming Draught stop working?”

Draco rubbed his face. “A few months after you taught me to brew it.”

“And the nightmares?”

“Shit, Severus.” Draco glanced at Hermione who was listening intently.

“Would you like for me to leave?” Hermione started to move, but Draco grabbed her hand.

“No. Stay. I’m sorry.” His hand squeezed hers. “I just wasn’t prepared for all of this.”

Hermione smiled and nodded in Severus’ direction.

“If anything they have gotten worse.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because you had already done what you could, I didn’t want to be shipped off to St. Mungo’s. Too late for that, I suppose.”

“You do need help.”

Draco’s breathing became panicked and labored. 

“Draco, breathe. Just because you need help doesn’t mean you are broken or insane. You’re not going to be locked up in St. Mungo’s for the rest of your life.”

Draco wasn’t listening anymore, his panic was overtaking him and he couldn’t process the words Severus was saying. His chest was heavy, and his thoughts were spinning. This was the exact thing that he was trying to avoid, and now it didn’t matter.

Hermione’s hand tightened on Draco’s thigh as she looked as Severus with pleading eyes.

Severus moved to stand in front of Draco and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, squeezing. “Do you feel my hands?” Draco nodded. “Focus on that. The feeling of it.” Severus squeezed then released then squeezed again. “Look at my shoes. See the melted sole?” Draco nodded again and it was clear he was listening and becoming less agitated. “Mr. Finnegan melted a cauldron and the floor got so hot it melted the sole of my shoe. Quite skilled in destruction that boy is.” Draco chuckled. Severus released Draco’s shoulders and motioned for him to sit back against the sofa, then returned to his chair. “We’re going to have to get a better handle on that.”

Draco scoffed. “I’ve been trying for years.”

“Now you have help. First, tell me when this all started. Can you pinpoint a set of circumstances that trigger it?”

“It didn’t start out this bad.”

“I assumed as much.”

“It got bad when  _ he _ returned.” Severus nodded. “But, well, you know father.” Draco looked down to his sock clad feet.

“Did he ever hit you, with curses or fists?” Severus’ face was pinched.

Draco refused to look up from his feet.

Hermione nudged him. “Draco?”

Draco raised his eyes to her’s. “It’s complicated. Pure-blooded households are different-”

Severus cut him off. “They may be different, but they should never be abusive. When was the last time, Draco?”

Draco went back to looking at his feet. “A few nights before I got on the train.”

“You are not going back to that house. You will stay with me over break.”

Draco nodded once.

“Until then, I am going to place some specific safety wards on your dormitory. These aren’t unlike those set up when children are learning to walk, except these will make it impossible for you to hurt yourself, and I will be alerted if you try, are having a panic attack, or a nightmare.”

“Shit.”

Severus glared at Draco then turned abruptly, moving his wand and chanting.

“This is for the best,” said Hermione.

Draco looked at Hermione and noticed for the first time how tired she looked.

“Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you are even asking me that.”

“What?”

“This day has been a bit emotional for me.”

“I’m sorry you found me.”

Hermione glared at Draco. “Are you sorry that  _ I _ found you, sorry that you were found, or sorry that you were in a state to be found in?”

Draco went back to looking at his feet. “I just wish I hadn’t put you through that. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Draco, look at me.” Hermione waited until she was looking directly into his eyes. “I’m glad I found you. I’m glad you’re okay. I wish you would have talked to me. I hate that you thought killing yourself was a valid option.” She held both of his hands. “I’m sorry that you’ve felt alone for so long.”

“How are you the way you are?”

“What do you mean?”

“You forgive so easily.”

Hermione sighed. “I was never mad at you for this, Draco. Worried? Absolutely. I know this isn’t about me. I know that you need help and support. I’d like to offer that to you. But, Draco, I also know that I’m not qualified for this. Professor Snape actually seems to know a lot about this.” Hermione broke eye contact with Draco momentarily to watch as the professor continued warding their dormitory. “You need to trust him to help you.”

Draco looked at his hands that he had pulled away from Hermione and was twisting in his lap. “I know.”

“I know this is a silly question considering, but are you okay?”

Draco nodded numbly. “Do you think I could have some time alone? I really, I won’t do anything. I just need to think, or process, or something.”

Hermione glanced at Severus, who appeared to be nearly finished. “I’ll be in my room. I doubt Professor Snape will leave though.”

Draco shrugged his shoulders. “I assumed. Thanks.”

Hermione stood and began to walk away, but paused next to the sofa. “I’m really glad you’re not… you know.” She squeezed his shoulder then disappeared into her room.

Draco knew he wouldn’t have much time before Severus returned to talk with him. He was quite certain that the man would want to talk to him without Hermione present, and he supposed that was for the best considering what he had tried. Oh, everything was going to change. He knew it and he was terrified. Draco looked down at his bare arms. Severus had magically replaced his shirt, but it was short sleeve and the professor hadn’t put up the usual Glamour charms. Draco stared at his scarred arms. The deep gashes he had made the night before had magically knitted closed, but they were still red and angry. The black magical mark stared back at him and he couldn’t hold himself together anymore. All of the choices he had made came crashing down on him and he felt like he was suffocating. It wasn’t a panic attack. Physically he could breathe just fine, but his soul felt like it was separated from himself. Like nothing in the world would ever be alright again. No joy. No peace. No anything. Draco was pulling at his hair and trying to stay quiet while he cried. He was a Slytherin, he was a Malfoy - he was not supposed to fall apart like this. He couldn’t help it though. _ Everything _ was falling apart, how could he keep himself from doing the same? It wasn’t like he hadn’t cried lately, like when Hermione figured everything out. This was different though, and he knew it. There was no getting out of this, no hiding anymore. He was going to have to face his demons. Maybe that was what he had been avoiding all along.

Draco felt a hand on his shoulder and he stilled. He peeled his hands away from his wet face and looked up to find Severus watching him.

Severus moved back to his claimed chair but this time he pulled it closer to Draco, so their knees would brush if either of them moved too much. “You do know you are allowed to be upset, yes?”

Draco scoffed. “You know as well as I do that I’m not.”

“No, I know that you are. I’m quite certain of it. Yes, I know your house and I know that we, as in Slytherin as a unit, tend to frown upon certain displays of emotion. I also know your father and his… ways. However, with age I have come to realize certain flaws in these ideals.” Severus paused, watching Draco closely to gauge his receptiveness. “Draco, I know you are under the impression that things of this nature are uncommon in the wizarding world. This simply isn’t true. I’ve been a professor long enough to see quite a bit, and you are by far not the first student to attempt to kill themselves, nor are you the first in Slytherin.”

Draco rubbed his hands over his face. “Next you’re going to tell me that Blaise Zabini is cutting into his flesh too.”

Severus sighed. “I certainly hope that is not that case. However, yes, I have also been in the position to help certain students coping in similar ways. As well as students not eating, using magical means to force themselves to throw their meals up, abusing drugs, alcohol, potions. Draco, you are not the only adolescent who is struggling. That being said, this is still serious. I’m going to be frank here, you are quite possibly the first in at least a few years to be in such a dangerous state of mind. As I told you earlier, I had to use a lot of magic to heal you. I do not trust you not to try again. I do not trust you to stop attempting to cope by harming yourself.”

“I told you, I told you I won’t.”

“Draco, it is not that simple, and I believe you know that. I have enough experience with this to know that you will be tempted and no matter how much self control you have, you will convince yourself that you need it.”

Draco turned his head, not wanting Severus to see him cry.

Severus’ voice softened even further. “I apologize for not realizing that something was going on.”

Draco jerked to look at the man, and was surprised to see that he was staring at his folded hands in his lap.

“I was hiding it, Sev. I don’t blame you. I didn’t want you to know.”

Severus scoffed. “I still should have seen it. You’ve been a mess this year. I convinced myself it was all because of your task. I should know you better than that. I  _ do _ know you better than that. Fuck, I just never thought  _ this _ .” Severus rolled his neck. “I’m going to get you help, I promise you that.”

“At St. Mungo’s?”

“No. I have a colleague who is both a trained Healer and holds a Muggle medical degree. This is his area of expertise.”

“Can, can you explain what that’s going to be like? I’ve never seen a Muggle, uhm, what do they call it?”

“Doctor is the blanket term.”

“Yes, that.”

“Well, this is a bit different from that. The best way to explain what Healer Swan does would be to refer to him as a Mind Healer, but he went through all the regular Healer training. The difference is that he also went through Muggle schooling and received a medical degree in psychiatry.” Noticing Draco’s furrowed brow, Severus explained further. “Essentially, Healer Swan has been educated in the Muggle world to treat people with psychiatric conditions, or, how can I explain this, illnesses of the mind. He can prescribe Muggle medication, and he is trained in many different methods of healing. I’ve brought a few students to him in the past, and am quite good friends with him. I trust him, and his education, Draco. I wouldn’t take you to him if I didn’t.”

“Okay. I guess, that sounds… okay.” Draco rubbed at his arms.

“Are you cold?”

Draco shook his head, and stopped rubbing at his arms. He was thankful that Severus hadn’t chastised him.

With a pop the table was set with chicken soup and sandwiches. Severus knocked on Hermione's door and informed her of the arrival of their meal. The three of them settled around the table, picking at their food. Hermione was grateful that the house elves had prepared something light as her stomach was in knots.

Draco watched her slowly sip the broth of her soup. He ate mechanically. Dip, blow, sip, swallow, repeat. He ate half a sandwich.

Severus observed silently as he ate, pleased that he didn’t have to fight with them to eat.

Once they had all effectively stopped eating, Severus cleared his throat. “I am going to go to my chambers to floo Healer Swan and retrieve some potions.” He looked from Hermione to Draco and back again. “I must insist that the two of you remain here, in the common room.” At their agreement Severus stood. “Very well. I’ll only be a short while.”

Draco rubbed his face as the portrait closed behind the professor. Hermione walked to her bookshelf, skimming the shelves and gently removing F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby”. She positioned herself on the couch next to Draco, welcoming him to sit close as she began to read aloud. Noticing his eyes drifting shut, Hermione offered her lap as a pillow, and Draco accepted, laying down and breathing in her clean, calm scent. She continued to read to Draco, then silently once she was certain he had fallen asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

A bit over a month after ‘the incident’ as they had taken to calling it, Hermione was curled up on the couch in her and Draco’s common room with a book in hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Some light reading.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the text. “Love, only you would call Chaucer ‘light reading’.”

Hermione looked up. “Considering it’s your book, I think there may be one or two others.”

Draco attempted a glare in her direction, but his lips curled into a smile regardless. Hermione closed the book and pulled him onto the sofa. He sat properly beside her, but if the night previous were to be used as any indication he would end up curled around her soon enough.

“How was your day?”

“Fine, and your day?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, when will that Malfoy manners thing end. You know I wasn’t asking to be polite.”

Draco carded his fingers through his hair. “I had a session with Healer Swan today.” Draco, whose eyes had been trained on the fire, chanced a glance at her.

“It is Tuesday, so I assumed as much.” Hermione’s eyes were soft and caring. She smiled slightly and raised her eyebrows, silently asking him if there was anything he would like to tell her.

“Right. Well, we discussed changing my meds a bit. He believes a higher dose of the antidepressant may be beneficial.”

Hermione slid her hand into his. “And how do you feel about that?”

Draco shifted, allowing his body to relax some. “It’s a bit complex.” Draco pointed to his head. “You know how I felt about the medication thing at first, but once I gave it time to actually do something I started to feel so much… I can’t quite say better, but not as miserable.”

Hermione nodded. “And increasing the dose may make you even less miserable?”

“That’s the idea. He also said that is should help with my anxiety.”

“That’s good.” Hermione knew that the anxiety was the most difficult for Draco. The depression was awful and debilitating, but the way it presented wasn’t something that Draco had been raised to feel ashamed of. The anxiety was a different story. One session he had actually uncovered that he was anxious about his anxiety, and his fear of having a panic attack was in part causing them.

Draco nodded, then let his head rest on Hermione’s shoulder. “We talked about you some.”

“Good things I hope.” Her fingers tangled in his.

“Always.” He lifted his head and met her eyes. “He thinks it may be beneficial for you to come to one of my sessions.”

Hermione’s face scrunched. “I’m not opposed, but why?”

“Multiple reasons. We’re dating, it’s serious…”

Hermione knew that even though Draco stated that he was questioning her. He did this often. It wasn’t that they didn’t talk about it, they talked about everything. Draco still felt insecure in it, however. It seemed that Lucius’ circumstantial love and affection made Draco constantly question his standing in relationships. “Yes, we are in a relationship and serious. I don’t plan on that changing anytime soon. Continue, love.”

Draco smiled. “You were the first person to break through and convince me that I could have agency over my part in this war.” Draco’s eyes shifted down and his voice lowered. “And you found me.”

The words hung in the air. “Ah. Those do seem like good reasons for me to come. If you want me there, I will be. Just tell me when.”

His eyes met hers again and she could feel the relief wave off him. “Really?”

“Of course, Draco.” It wasn’t perfect, both Hermione and Draco knew that. There was still a war. Draco’s parents were still on the wrong side of it. Draco wasn’t healed, or cured, and he probably never would be. He was in a better place though, he would get to an even better place with therapy and medication and support. So it wasn’t perfect, it was messy and complicated. But they weren’t hiding the mess anymore. They were talking about it and actively looking for ways to clean it up.

Hermione glanced at the clock. “It’s almost time for dinner, care to join me?”

Draco stood, then turned to help her up. “Of course.”

Hermione picked up the robe that Draco had draped over a chair and moved to hand it to him, but he waved it off. “I don’t want to wear my robe tonight.” She glanced down at his arms, which weren’t Glamoured or hidden by long sleeves. “You’re sure?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m anxious, yeah… but I’m done hiding.”

So she returned the robe to the chair and threaded her fingers through his.


End file.
